


Operation: Find Kaito Tenjo

by Brushfire



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! ARC-V, Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Complicated Relationships, Gen, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Post-Zexal/ARC-V crossover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-10 08:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 54,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5578897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brushfire/pseuds/Brushfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a single night, Doctor Faker is murdered, Heartland tower is set ablaze, and Kaito Tenjō vanishes. Bound only by their mutual concern for Haruto’s well being, Christopher and Mizael decide to care for the remaining Tenjō brother while trying to maintain an awkward peace between them. Then, Academia invades. Five years pass, leaving Chris, Mizael, and the now-teenage Haruto to act as an odd team with one goal: Finding Kaito and bringing him back alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Heartland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which the world is in ruins._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last, I finally caved and just started writing this story as a straight up fanfiction rather than it being the comic fanfiction mash I had planned. This chapter is unbeta'd, and I'll likely come back and edit it later.  
>  _Edited 1/16/16_

Heartland City was a desolate place. Abandoned buildings lined the streets, broken windows allowing sight into their darkened interiors, unnerving and wide eyed. Silence lay thick, the type that threatened to lash out the moment it was disturbed. Haruto’s own breathing behind his mask seemed loud in his ears as he drifted down the center of the road. He didn’t particularly enjoy these visits to Heartland; the city was a ruin, a once-utopia reduced to rubble by war. The sight of it always left him uncomfortable, his heart heavy in his chest. Most of the previous inhabitants had either fallen or fled; the few who had stayed had either joined the Resistance or one of the ragtag gangs with whom they clashed in the name of turf wars.

_ It’s not like you’re here to reminisce,  _ Haruto reminded himself, steadily picking his way through rubble that clogged the street. He shook off thoughts of the city’s demise. _ Focus, damn it. _

The soft hum of his hoverboard faded as he killed the ignition, the device gently lowering to the ground. Gravel crunched beneath his feet as he stepped off the board, the leather of his boots already dusty from the debris blown by the wind. Haruto picked up his board and flicked a switch, watching the machine unhinge itself and fold into a small compact cube, which he tucked carefully into his bag.

He was in a familiar neighborhood, the houses around him shells of lives lost. Haruto knew that if he were to walk down the street and turn right, he would find himself at the doorstep of what used to be the Tsukumo residence. Turning on his heel, he walked the other direction, away from old memories and toward the commercial district a few blocks down.

If Haruto were to be honest with himself, he would say that he wasn’t sure what he was looking for, only hoping that he would know when he finds it. Old scraps of newspaper, maybe. Advertisements, periodicals, rumors. Anything that would hint at what happened during the months leading up to Academia’s invasion. Most people would be looking for clues that could have informed keen eyes of something being amiss, something that could be used as valuable information on how to fight Academia in the coming days. Haruto was looking for clues about his missing brother.

It’s been five years since Haruto had last seen Kaito. For three of those years, he had little else other than his refusal to believe otherwise as evidence that Kaito wasn’t dead. That was back before Academia began airing propaganda. The messages arrived suddenly, invading communication ports and playing on any channel that recieved a signal; missives calling for the people of Heartland to surrender, to turn over their arms and take up Academia’s noble cause. They all presented the same doctrine of submission and subjugation - all spoken with the unwavering voice and blank face of Kaito Tenjo. At first Haruto had wanted to believe that it was faked, that it wasn't actually Kaito's dull gaze on the screen. But as time went on, he was forced to swallow the fact that Academia truly did have his brother. He heard murmurs of people suspecting that Kaito was doing this voluntarily; Kaito, who had suffered for so long for Haruto's sake and who had died fighting to protect this world against the Varians.

Haruto gritted his teeth. That Academia was painting his brother as a traitor made his stomach churn and left a bitter taste on his tongue. But the fact that they had even managed to make Kaito agree to film these propaganda messages was worrying enough for Haruto to bite down on his anger and focus on the task of finding some form of evidence to prove his brother innocent. Anything to prevent Haruto from being stuck in the villa, waiting for the gateway to be finished so they could finally begin their effort to rescue Kaito and cripple Academia.

Haruto hadn't noticed that he had become lost in thought, snapping out of his reverie to be greeted by the distinct feeling that he was being watched. Goosebumps trailed up his arms as his eyes darted around the seemingly empty street, feet slowing to a halt. He held his breath and stood, listening for the sounds of someone approaching. The road remained dutifully silent, the pounding of his heart the only sound in his ears. The shadows in the building windows remain undisturbed, watching him with the same still apathy they greeted him with upon entering the city. Haruto scanned the street once more, before relaxing. It seems as though he was just being paranoid.

He exhaled, and found himself surrounded.

Haruto’s hands flew to his bag, duel disk quickly strapped to his arm, blade glowing in the daylight. Frowning behind his gas mask, he carefully took in his unexpected company. There were five of them, dressed in ragtag clothing, dirt smeared across their faces and mouths covered with bandanas and scarves that everyone seemed to don in the city, protecting their lungs from the putrid air that threatened to burn it with its toxins. Pipes, bats, and other makeshift weapons were slung threateningly across their shoulders or cocked at their hips. A girl with striking teal hair pulled off her bandana and sneered at him when he met her gaze, a long scar pulling at the corner of her lip, her eyebrows shaved and studded with metal.

“Look at what we have here,” she said, twirling a bat lazily in her hand. “Looks like a poor little runt seems to have lost his way. Didn’t get the memo, did’ya kid?”

Not a scrap of red to be seen. Definitely not Resistance members; this had to be one of the street gangs they were having trouble with. People who took advantage of the anarchy and sought to establish their own reign, uncaring of the loss or plights of others. Haruto widened his stance, glaring at her. She grinned at his determination, eyes narrowing behind the orange lenses of her goggles.

“Oh, so it looks like this one wants to fight. Ain’t that a funny sight?” she drawled. One of the gang members to Haruto’s left snickered; another spat, barely missing Haruto’s boot. He flinched, and the leader laughed. “Listen kid, this area here? It belongs to Rust. An' we ain’t lettin’ ya though without payin’ the toll."

Haruto just glared at her over the light of his duel disk. She clicked her tongue, seemingly unimpressed.

"Don’t try to pull those card game stunts on us. We ain’t afraid t’fight, and personally.” She let her bat slide through her hand, the metal clanking against the asphalt as she leaned on it. “I like to use a more direct approach than cards.”

“What’s the price, then?” Haruto gritted out, his disk still poised in front of him. Even if they weren’t duelists, he wasn’t going to let his guard down, especially not when she held a bat that had… _ were those screws drilled into the metal? _

He really should have listened to Chris and avoided the city.

“Eeeeeh.” She squinted at him. “Depends on what’cha got.” Returning her bat to its roost on her shoulder, the gangster stepped closer to him, her boots dragging against the asphalt with a heavy walk, metal buckles clinking with the weight. “You look like a nice kid - ye’r certainly cleaner than the rest of us here.”

The other four members laughed, but the girl was busy scrutinizing his face. He leaned away as she got close, nose wrinkling at her foul breath. Christ, she wasn’t kidding about the cleanliness.

“Say, you look awfully familiar from up close.”

Fuck.

“I’m positive we have never met before in our lives,” Haruto stammered out quickly. He took few steps back, only to run into another gang member, a tall barrel-chested man that glared down at him as he quickly shied away.

“Nah, you look like one of those rich kids you see on TV because their parents died in a car crash or somethin’.” She blinked, and her eyes lit up with recognition as a slow smile stretched across her features. “I got it, yer that traitor’s little brother, aint’cha? Yer Haruto Tenjo!”

_ Fuck. _

Haruto kicked out, his foot connecting hard with her shin. He darted past her as she stumbled, his feet scrabbling against the street debris, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he broke for freedom. Quickly he found his path blocked by a gangster, his heels digging into the road as he twisted roughly to avoid being struck by the swinging pipe. Feinting the other direction, he slipped beneath the gangster’s arm to find himself face-to-chest with the massive man he backed into just moments ago.

“U-um, can’t we come to some sort of agreement, perhaps?” Haruto stammered, backing away with his hands raised.

The gang members slowly closed in on him, the leader looking pissed. He broke out into a cold sweat as his mind raced for some way to get out of here alive. Why didn't he listen to Chris and avoid going to Heartland alone? He could be at the villa right now, peeling potatoes or cleaning pots or doing whatever menial task Mizael felt like subjecting him to. But no, instead here he was, moments away from being beaten to a pulp by a group of punks with something to prove. He braced himself, and just as the leader opened her mouth to speak, a voice shouted out from above.

The gang startled back as a man leapt down from a nearby building, landing on the hard concrete next to Haruto with ease. He unfolded himself and glared at them with the gaze of a man who knew his company was no match. Relief rushed through Haruto as he instantly recognized the gold hair and hard eyes of the newcomer.

_ Mizael. _

“Who the hell are you supposed to be!?” the leader snapped, bat leveled in front of her.   
Mizael turned to glare at her, fire in his eyes, his mouth pressed into a thin line. The gangster to her right gasped, his too-skinny legs quivering in sudden fear. She shot him an annoyed glance and a raised brow.

“Th-t-that’s Mizael. I kn-knew him fro-from school. He never loses a fight.” The gangster turned to his boss, hands pressed together in gesture of pleading. “Come on, Asuka, we can’t win this one. Let’s let them go and we can get away with all our bones unbroke.”

The leader  –  _ Asuka _ , Haruto’s mind provided  –  hissed in annoyance.

“What’re you, a sniveling infant? So what if this guy kicked your ass in high school!?”

“M-middle school,” the gangster quietly provided. Asuka barked a laugh and shoved him to the side, bat readied. Mizael, who had been impassively watching the exchange at Haruto’s side, shifted his weight.

“So, you want to fight me?” he asked, his tone even.

“Big talk, pretty boy. I bet you won’t even get a hit in," she sneered.

“Well, don’t say that your friend didn’t warn you.”

With a cry she lunged forward, bat flashing in the sun as she raised it to swing. Her call was cut off as Mizael suddenly closed the distance between them, a blur of motion quicker than the eye could track. She slumped, and Mizael stepped back, pulling the hilt of his dagger back from where he had struck her sternum. Asuka fell to the ground heavily, unconscious but visibly unharmed. Mizael turned, snapping his dagger back into the sheath that rested at his lower back.

“Does anyone else want to try?” he said, spreading his arms. “No?”

The gang remained still, their eyes wide with fear and awe. Mizael snorted in disgust, an undignified sound that seemed to conflict with his lovely features.

“Take your boss and get out of here,” he said, his voice clipped. Suddenly animated, the gang members scrambled to leave, the huge man tossing Asuka over his shoulders. Mizael watched their hasty retreat, grimacing in annoyance.

Haruto had only a moment to breathe a sigh of relief before Mizael turned on him in a whirlwind of exasperation and parental scolding.

“What were you thinking!? You could have gotten yourself killed,” Mizael snapped, glaring down at Haruto.

“Well I’m obviously not dead, so I think I’m doing fine so far,” Haruto retorted, glaring back at Mizael as best as he could. It really wasn’t an easy feat.

“You’re not dead because I saved you.”

“I would have figured something out.”

“Uh-huh, like what, if you wouldn’t mind sharing?” Mizael looked down at Haruto, his tone laced with sarcastic disapproval.

“I…” Haruto paused, his lips pursing as his mind dredged for ideas only to come up empty.

“In the amount of time you used to think just now, I could have easily taken you out,” Mizael said, crossing his arms with a finality that saved no room for argument. “We told you specifically to not go to Heartland City. And you go and purposefully disobey us. Do you have any explanation for your behavior?”

“...No.”

Mizael blinked. He had expected for Haruto to have a litany of excuses prepared, which for Mizael would have been easier to handle than the forlorn expression Haruto wore. With a deep sigh, Mizael dragged a hand down his face, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

“Go home, Haruto,” he said, his words heavy with weariness. “We will talk about this later.”

He watched as Haruto mounted his hoverboard and floated down the street, waiting until he turned the corner before slumping down to sit on a pile of rubble. A warm presence at his side notified him that Jinlong had shown up, but he ignored it, rubbing his face with his hands.

“Don’t you think you are being a bit hard on the boy?” Jinlong asked, standing– floating, rather–beside where Mizael crouched.

“I know.” Mizael lifted his head to look at Jinlong, who returned his gaze with a look of pity. “It’s just…whenever he does this, something happens. I fear that one day I’m going to open the door and find a box filled with pieces of him.”

“That’s an awfully morbid image,” Jinlong commented.

Mizael groaned loudly and gracelessly flopped onto his back. The rocks dug uncomfortably into his shoulders through the canvas of his jacket, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, instead staring up at the dark clouds that were beginning to mask the hazy sky. Reaching up, his tugged his goggles away from his eyes, blinking as the dust made his eyes water. He sighed, taking a deep breath of the city’s putrid air.

“I’m too old for this,” Mizael mumbled, breaking the brief silence that had fallen between them. “I can’t raise a kid. I should be going into retirement.”

“Retirement would require that you would have a job.”

“Don’t play a fool, you get my point.”

“I think,” Jinlong said, folding his hands together beneath his sleeves, “that perhaps you should let Haruto come and go as he feels is necessary. A flower will not bloom if you smother the seed.”

“So you’re telling me that I should let him jump off a cliff in order for him to learn he can’t fly,” Mizael deadpanned.

“...Perhaps a dragon may not be the best person to give advice about raising human children.” Jinlong spoke quickly, somewhat embarrassed. He supposed it was fair for Mizael to not let that particular incident go. “But he is not a child anymore, Mizael. You must let him run free and test his limits. That is the only way he will learn what he is capable of.”

Mizael remained silent, eyes closed and face expressionless. Despite all the possibilities that made every inch of him that shudder in discomfort, Mizael knew that Jinlong's words were true. It wasn't Haruto's fears that were holding him back, but rather it was that of Mizael...and Christopher. Mizael would be damned if Christopher wasn't taking responsibility for this as well.

“I suppose you’re right, my friend.” Mizael opened his eyes and stood, brushing the dust from his jacket. He cast a look at the sky, eyes scanning the heavy coal clouds. He pulled up his scarf, covering his mouth and nose once more. “We should be heading back if we hope to beat this rain.”

Jinlong watched his ward retrieve a motorcycle from a nearby alley, noting the weariness that lined Mizael’s eyes like a shadow. In truth, Jinlong’s advice not only served the purpose of granting Haruto more freedom, but served to make it so Mizael wasn’t worrying so much. But with all that Mizael has lost, time and time again, Jinlong couldn’t deny there was reason for Mizael’s ever present concern.

The motorcycle’s engine roared as it came to life, sending a flock of crows screeching from where they rested on the few power lines that hadn’t yet fallen. Jinlong vanished as Mizael twisted the bike around, goggles pulled down over his tired eyes as he flew down the street and toward the highway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more information and content for this AU, go to o-fkt.tumblr.com  
> For me talking about this AU and lots of wip content, find me on Twitter @tindlefire


	2. Old Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which things are explained._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year! Byron's kind of an asshole.  
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated - if you enjoyed the chapter, leave one!  
>  _Edited 1/16/16_

By the time Haruto floated past the first of the lookout towers that surrounded the villa, he was soaked to the bone. Rain poured from the sky, the countryside dark despite it being only hours past midday. He disembarked, mud squelching beneath his feet as he walked down one of the paths that wove through the vast gardens surrounding the villa. Haruto's coat clung to his frame, his skin clammy from the cold and the rain; he found himself wishing for the fifth time that his coat had sleeves. The storm had started soon after he left Heartland city, leaving him to be exposed to the elements for a good hour, and he certainly was beginning to feel the toll of being out for so long. He sneezed, his eyes watering. Oh, great, so now he has a cold.  
Mizael will never let him hear the end of this.

Stepping carefully through the mud, he made his way to the villa, praying that he would be able to slip by unnoticed by Chris and sink deep into the steaming waters of a hot bath. The door squeaked softly as he eased it open, barely audible beneath the rainfall. Haruto quickly slipped inside. The wind picked up, and Haruto scrambled to prevent the door from slamming shut, his hand braced against the handle and his foot stuck in the jamb. Carefully, he eased it shut, the latch clicking softly. He let out his breath. With the sound of the rain quieted, he could hear Chris and Byron talking in the kitchen - which, unfortunately, meant that it wasn’t going to be easy to sneak by unnoticed.

Haruto slipped off his boots and jacket quietly as he could, tucking the wet coat beneath his arm. He shivered as the cold fabric dripped onto his skin. Slowly he crept into the hall, pausing to peer into the kitchen archway. Chris was sitting in the chair facing away from Haruto, reading from some book. He breathed a sigh of relief. Seems as though he might be safe from getting caught—

Haruto froze as he noticed Byron looking at him from across the table, heart seeming to stop in his chest as dread and anxiety flooded through his body. It would only be moments before Byron pointed him out to Chris, and then Haruto would be subjected to being lectured, all while cold and soaking wet and generally miserable. Cringing, he braced himself for the inevitable - only for Byron to raise a brow, grin slightly, and return his attention to what Chris was saying.

…Well that was weird. Then again, it was Byron. Haruto never knew what to expect from the man. But he did know not to count his blessings, and he slipped past the kitchen archway, the conversation fading as he quickly jogged down the hall and into his bedroom.

The room hadn’t changed much since his childhood, the walls the same muted cream they were the day he had first stepped foot into the villa. Glow-in-the-dark stars dotted the ceiling, glued there by his mother while she was still alive. The furniture, on the other hand, was new, Haruto having long outgrown his childhood bed and desk. Books littered the room, most of them textbooks, detailing facts about biology or robotics or physics or botany. Haruto had been homeschooled for most of his life due to illness, and he was more than used to teaching himself whatever he was interested in knowing. Somewhere down the line, Mizael had decided that it was important for Haruto to continue his studies, and had managed to scavenge whatever textbooks he came across during his trips to Heartland – something Haruto was honestly grateful for.

Though it was somewhat ironic, Haruto thought, considering that Mizael was technically a middle-school dropout.

Haruto picked through the mess of books and electronic parts that littered the floor, being careful to avoid dripping on any paper that was lying out. Reaching his bathroom, he dropped his coat on the floor and began working on getting out of his stiff clothes. After a series of curses and jumping up and down, he finally peeled the clothing from his skin, abandoning them in a wet pile as he ran the bath and sunk into the water, his frozen bones gratefully soaking up the heat.

 

✥

 

The evening found Haruto sitting atop the villa roof, his hands stuffed into the pockets of an oversized pullover he found in one of the guest bedroom closets a while ago. He had grown fond of the sweater; despite its ill-fitting shape and ugly color it was incredibly warm, ideal for cold nights like this. The rain ceased hours ago, the moon and stars whitewashing the countryside with their light. From his perch, Haruto thought he could pick out the distant shape of Heartland City; a tiny speck shadowed on the horizon.

With the night so calm, Haruto had hoped it would ease his sour mood. Unfortunately that didn’t seem to be the case; his thoughts were buzzing angrily in his mind. He understood why Chris and Mizael were so against him going to the city alone - this afternoon was a blatant reminder of how risky it could be. Regardless, the irrational part of him couldn’t help but feel as though they still considered him a child, helpless and incapable of taking care of himself. He could duel well enough. It isn’t as though he’s without means.

Pulling his legs up, Haruto rested his head against his knees, staring into the darkness created by his body blocking the moonlight. Chris and Mizael were almost like parents to him, in a way. Admittedly, Haruto had grown to consider Mizael as sort of a mother figure, which was probably weird, seeing as Mizael is ancient and not female and only somewhat human, but the association stuck in Haruto's mind and wouldn't budge. After all, Haruto hadn't known his own mother, so Mizael was possibly the closest he'd ever had.

Which would make Chris his “dad” and Byron his.... grandfather? No, Byron was more like the weird uncle who lived in the attic and always had something unusual and interesting to share in order to distract people from the fact that he never helped out or paid any form of rent. The weird uncle that Haruto technically has a bad history with, even though there’s only so much he remembers from that time in his life. Come to think of it, all of them were technically people Haruto had, at one point or another, considered an enemy of sorts.

 _This is stupid_ , he thought, lifting his head to blink in the low light. He shouldn’t be thinking about the past. All it brought about was conflicting emotions and the feeling that someone was reaching inside him and twisting his guts.

A scraping sound disrupted the quiet – the familiar noise of someone climbing the chimney bricks to reach the roof. Haruto looked over his shoulder and was surprised to see Byron pull himself over the ledge, pausing to brush the dirt off the lab coat he frequently wore.

“You look surprised,” Byron said in greeting, making his way over to perch beside Haruto.

“I just…You don’t seem like the type to go climbing on roofs?” Haruto offered, biting his cheek at his lame response. Byron laughed lightly, pointing down to the roof.

“The wife came home and they started bickering. I didn’t feel like sticking around to listen.”

“Don’t call Mizael that. He doesn’t like it.”

“Mizael doesn’t like a lot of things. Truffles, relaxing, alcohol, being reincarnated at an age younger than when he died. There’s no harm in tasteless nicknames. Besides, he’s busy fighting with Chris – it’s not like he heard.”

Based on experience, Haruto personally suspected that Mizael could hear everything within a mile radius, but he chose not to comment. The two sat in what Haruto considered to be an awkward silence, but maybe Byron didn’t. Haruto wouldn’t know what the man thought – Byron was a weird person, part-space part-child appearance aside. Haruto doubted he was completely sane. He also doubted that Byron was even technically alive, seeing as he never slept or ate or drank or did anything aside from work on the Gateway. Haruto had been tempted to ask Mizael about it, seeing as Mizael seemed to know what was up with Byron, but had decided against it on the basis of it seeming rude. He certainly wasn’t going to ask Byron himself.

“Haruto.” Byron’s voice cut through Haruto’s thoughts, and he looked at the not-child sitting beside him. “Have I ever told you about how your parents met?”

No, Byron hadn’t. It never even occurred to Haruto to ask Byron about his parents, having forgotten that before everything that had happened Byron had been a family friend.

“I don’t think so,” Haruto replied, shifting his position when he felt his leg beginning to go numb. Byron let out a harsh breath and reached up to take off his mask, the nebulaic half of his face glowing dimly in the moonlight. The nebula had grown in the past five years, stretching down his neck and beneath the collar of his shirt. Haruto wondered to himself how much of the man was even organic anymore. Byron set his mask across his knees and spoke:

“The first time I met your mother, we were both children. Back then she was still Olivia Oswald, the daughter of one of the maids who came to our manor to clean daily. I wasn’t the most sociable child, with most of my time being consumed by those useless lessons my parents had me take constantly. Little good they did. Anyway, I guess Olivia’s mother didn’t like seeing me alone so often, because she began bringing Olivia to work nearly every day. I admittedly wasn’t the most welcoming to your mother at first - I believe I dumped a vase of flowers over her head as an effort to get her to leave.”

Haruto couldn’t help but snicker at the image, hiding his face in his sleeve. Byron shrugged and continued to speak:

“That changed when she and I discovered a rivalling passion for science. Time passed and pretty soon your mother was my best friend. My only friend, really, until university forced me to expand my social circle. When we were in high school, we worked to attend the same university, our minds full of research propositions and wild hypotheses. She was accepted on the basis of her intelligence and hard work – I was accepted due to the weight of a noble name and high class privilege.

“I met your father at a week-long international seminar. Olivia wasn’t able to attend due to participating in a work-study program that kept her stuck back in England, and she had made me promise that I reiterate every idea proposition that was made. Many of these ideas were fairly mundane; schematics for lightbulbs that could last a century, research on how to create protein supplements from beetles. But there was one man who’s proposition stood out among the rest - he wanted to build an entire city, a self sustaining utopia that would convert its waste into energy to power not only the immediate area but neighboring suburbs as well.

“I thought your father was a fool – an idealist and a romanticist, who had no business bringing such a preposterous idea to such an important seminar. The fact that he was apparently named ‘Doctor Faker’ didn’t incite a rosy view of him either. But this was, of course, the proposition that Olivia found to be fascinating. So much so that she insisted I bother the man on her behalf.

“I’ll admit I’ve never been the best at saying no to your mother—” Here, Byron let out a heavy sigh, “—and soon I found myself tracking down this ‘Doctor Faker’. Actually, if I recall properly, the name was the first thing I had asked about, as he introduced himself as Tenjo Satoshi instead. He told me it was due to a grant rival claiming that Satoshi had stolen research of his. The claim was debunked but, as you well know, the name stuck.

“My opinion of Satoshi brightened after speaking to him. I still thought his ideas were incredibly far-fetched, but his research was surprisingly sound. But it was Olivia with whom he hit it off with so well. I ended up giving him her email after I got fed up with reiterating every damn question she had for him.” Byron chuckled at that, his face fond. “Well, the week came to an end and I returned to England. Olivia, on the other hand, exchanged emails with your father almost daily, and I became good friends with Satoshi through less-regular correspondence. It was a year before we came to Japan on a visit, and two years after that they were married. The end.”

Haruto blinked, startled by the abrupt ending.

“That’s it?” he asked.

“Yep, that’s it.”

“There has to be more. How did Heartland end up being built? How did you end up in Japan as well? How did…”

_How did you grow to hate each other so much?_

The question hung in the air between them, unspoken but present all the same. Byron gave Haruto a long look before he turned, sitting back down on the roof with a thud. He looked at his mask, running his hands over the metal. Silence stretched between them, and Haruto began to wonder if Byron was going to tell him anything more. After a long moment, Byron placed his mask to the side, folding his hands in his lap.

“About six months later, Olivia calls me in the middle of the night and tells me that they got the legal permits to begin development on the city project. At first I thought that I was still dreaming, seeing as legal permits to build an entire city were nearly impossible to obtain, especially in a country as developed as Japan. But she explained to me that they weren’t building a new city - rather they had the permission to reface and reconstruct large portions of a pre-existing suburb, near some city that wasn’t doing great economically. Ah, what was its name? I remember it was weird… Domino, that was it. Domino City. The part of Heartland near the harbor district is what Domino City was.

“But I digress; she’s explaining all of this to me and I’m only somewhat following – seeing as it’s around three A.M. – when she tells me that she wanted me to come to Japan and stay for an undetermined amount of time. Like I said, I was really bad about saying ‘no’ to your mom, and I ended up flying out to Japan. I brought Chris with me; Thomas and Michael stayed home with their mother.

“When we got to Japan, your parents introduced me to the guy who was so helpful in gaining these mysterious permits. I can tell by the look on your face that you already know it’s Mr. Heartland. Trust me, I hated him from the moment I met him. Thought he was suspicious, far too eager, and there was something about the way he talked that made my hair stand on end.”  
Haruto grimaced and nodded, unfortunately knowing exactly what Byron was referring to.

“Olivia pinned my wariness as cynicism, citing my dislike of Satoshi at first as evidence that I don’t inherently trust anyone…which is true, but I thought Satoshi was an idiot. Heartland, on the other hand, I thought was an untrustworthy swine who was going to pull them into something deeply illegal. It wasn’t far from the truth, but it ended up being pulled off. They were lucky for it. Had they been caught, they could have all gone to prison.

“I wasn’t surprised when Michael told me that Heartland was apparently associated with a gang, or that he had ended up becoming Varian for that short time. Like I said, I didn’t trust him. He’s a lot of the reason why everything ended up the way it did. But your parents were so caught up in their excitement that they didn’t pay attention to any of what was going on. Then…well, everything went to hell.”

“How?” Haruto pressed. Byron looked as though he wanted to leave, but Haruto wasn’t about to let him go without finishing; he had wondered about this for years, and with all the suffering it had caused Haruto and Kaito and everyone, really, Haruto felt Byron owed him this.

“Well, your mother became ill, first off. She just had you, and seemed to have come down with a mild cold. But this ‘cold’ soon became far worse, and none of us knew what was wrong. Olivia had always been prone to getting sick, but that…that was the worst I had ever seen her.

“I argued with your father a lot back then. I would have argued with Heartland too, had I ever chosen to acknowledge him. It was a very stressful time, with the city renovations underway and the uncertainty of whether or not your mother would make it. Then…Olivia died. And that was it. I attended her funeral, then left and returned to England without so much as a goodbye.

“It was years before your father contacted me again. I had been preoccupied with the research on the different dimensions, building a Gateway very similar to the one we’re making now. But one day I came to the lab to find that my research partner had stolen all our notes and destroyed the Gateway. For months I expected to find him on the front cover of some scientific journal, claiming to have made a groundbreaking discovery but…he never left whatever hole he decided to hide in. Just vanished, completely.

“So by the time your father contacted me, saying he needed help with some random project, I had run out of reasons to say no. My wife had left, my research was gone, my kids old enough that they would be fine to stay with a nanny without concern. So Chris and I ended up returning to Japan once more where we met Kazuma and…well, you know the rest.”

Byron fell silent, and Haruto was without words, his mind running over everything that had been said. Despite all that was left unsaid, Haruto was capable of reading between the lines. Byron sighed and slipped on his mask. He stood.

“It’s late, Haruto. You should go sleep.”

With that, Byron turned on his heel, disappearing as quickly as he came. Haruto blinked, and even with all the questions that were left unanswered, he was now certain of one thing; Byron Arkwright had been deeply and irrefutably in love with Haruto’s mother.

 

✥

 

“Christopher.”

Chris hummed, lips brushing the inside of his thigh. Normally, Mizael wouldn’t be thinking at this moment - that’s what this was for, to distract himself from thinking. But tonight he couldn’t seem to turn his brain off.

“Christopher, stop.”

Mizael could feel him freeze. He could imagine Chris’ expression right now, that mix of concern and confusion he wore whenever Mizael came in with a wound he didn’t have that morning. But Mizael wasn’t looking at Chris, he was staring at the ceiling of the dark room. The mattress sagged as Chris moved from where he was kneeling on the floor to sit beside him. Mizael pursed his lips, sore and kiss-swollen.

“Mizael, what’s—”

“This,” he blurted out, cutting Chris’s words short. “We can’t keep doing this.”

“This?”

“This… using each other. It’s wrong and it’s not getting either of us anywhere.”

Chris sighed, and Mizael turned his head to look at him. His eyes were directed away from Mizael, white strands of hair clinging to his sweaty cheeks like spiderwebs. Mizael felt the urge to brush them back; his hands remained lying at his sides.

“I was wondering how long you’d be able to keep it up,” Chris said, finally looking at Mizael. Even in the low light, Mizael could see the shadows that shrouded his eyes like bruises, an ever present reminder of how little sleep Chris got. It worried Mizael for the first year. It never stopped worrying Mizael.

“What is that supposed to mean?” He knew what it meant.

“You’re an honorable person, Mizael. You’re not the type who can do this kind of thing for long before your morals come to call.” Chris offered Mizael a smile. It made Mizael want to cry. Or yell. But they already yelled enough to make Mizael’s throat sore.

“And you’re not?”

Chris laughed, that soft laugh he used for things that were far from amusing. “I’m afraid I’m a far more desperate man than you, Mizael. For me, this stopped being about Kaito a long time ago.”

Mizael knew this day would probably come, but it wasn’t any easier to hear. Chris leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. Mizael let his eyes close, listening to the rustling of fabric as Chris got dressed. It was only after the door shut that Mizael opened his eyes, only to be met by the same dull, blank ceiling as before.

Outside, a flame flickered as Chris lit a cigarette. Bringing it to his lips, he inhaled, feeling the smoke burn away his lungs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more information and content for this AU, go to o-fkt.tumblr.com  
> For me talking about this AU and lots of wip content, find me on Twitter @tindlefire


	3. Iron and Potatoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which Haruto curses his tuberous overlords._

 The soft hues of morning crept into the mountains sooner than Haruto would have liked, the whitewashed walls of the villa rosy in the early light. Sleep had been evasive, thoughts and questions cluttering his mind and chasing away any fatigue the day had brought. Dark bags hung under Haruto’s eyes as he tried to rub the tiredness from them. His hair was a rat’s nest, tangled into knots; he flinched as he tried to pull his fingers through it, tugging on his hair to get it to release the captive digits. Mizael called from the hallway, telling Haruto to come outside after he ate.

 _It looks like I won’t be avoiding that lecture_ , he mused, finally easing his fingers from his hair. Picking through his cluttered room, he searched for clothing that looked clean enough, eventually settling on an old pair of jeans and a t-shirt advertising some grunge band he had never listened to. Haruto found his boots where he had left them the night before, his nose wrinkling dried mud crusted across the soles and up the sides. Dirt covered his fingers as he laced them up. He brushed them off on his pants.

Sunlight greeted Haruto as he eased open the front door. He chewed on the bread he’d stuffed into his mouth as he stood for a moment, feeling the cool mountain breeze blow across his skin. This was something he had missed, back when he lived in Heartland. Despite the city’s green technology, it still remained very urban, and the air felt heavier in his lungs than it did here. Nowadays the air in Heartland was heavily contaminated, unbreathable for all the ash and dust and debris that laced it. It was difficult to believe that it was even the city from Haruto’s memory, a grey, desolate shadow of its prior finery. Haruto sighed around his bread, noting that hit had grown soggy from being in his mouth for too long. His nose wrinkled at the sweetness of it, and he quickly swallowed.

“Haruto! Stop spacing out and come over here!” Mizael’s voice arose from the gardens. Haruto looked around but couldn’t see him among the green of the plants, presumably hidden behind one of the higher-growing plots. Jumping off the porch, Haruto wove his way through the garden paths, knocking his feet together as he walked to try and dislodge the dirt from them.

He found Mizael near the herb garden, fussing over a small flower Haruto didn’t know the name of. The air was spiced with the musk of the aromatic plants, the strong smell akin to the medicines and salves Mizael concocted. Normal medicine was hard to come by, most of what lie in the ruins of Heartland having been scraped out by the Resistance or addicts; whomever found it first. They had grown to rely on Mizael’s medical knowledge, surprisingly vast albeit a bit outdated.

Mizael looked up Haruto drew near. His hair was pulled back, golden wisps framing his face where the strands were too short to be tied. Soil was smeared across his cheek, as though he had tried to wipe it away with his dirty glove.

“Here.” Mizael said, gesturing to a basket that sat on the ground. Haruto peered in; A pair of worn gloves and a trowel lie on the bottom. “Take these and start digging up the potatoes. They should be ready now.”

“All of them?” Haruto glanced over to where the potatoes were planted, the plot stretching for rows.

“All of them.”

Haruto groaned inwardly, but quickly retrieved the basket at the look Mizael gave him. Holding it against his hip, Haruto made his way to the top of the potato patch, mentally preparing himself for hours of spuds.

Rocks dug into Haruto’s knees as he plunged his shovel into the dirt, his fingers scraping through the loosened soil to unearth the tuber buried there. So apparently by _“We will talk about this later,_ ” Mizael meant “I _’m going to have you do nothing but dig up potatoes for hours on end as a form of slow, subtle torture through which you will atone for your actions._ ” Which, really, Haruto would probably be more bitter about if it weren’t for the fact that Mizael was out here working as well. It didn’t seem so much a punishment as it seemed like Haruto was simply pulling his own weight for once.

Unlike Haruto, Mizael enjoyed the work. Though he would never admit it, Haruto knew that he had found Heartland to be suffocating, unused to the chatter and close proximity of urban life. The mountains suited him better, where isolation could be found. Despite the feeling of displacement that accompanied Haruto when leaving Heartland, Mizael seemed to be much more at home out here, living off the land where his hands were constantly busy. Haruto supposed this was as close to seeing Mizael in his natural environment as he would get. Without the dragons.

Haruto’s fingers brushed against the skin of the potato, and he dug his fingers in further to wrap around it. Bracing his weight on his free hand, he jerked the potato from its earthen nest, the tuber’s lumpen shape emerging in a shower of dirt that hit Haruto’s face. His eyes watered as his blinked dirt from them, and he lifted the potato to glare angrily at it before giving it a particularly violent chuck into the basket beside him. The toss missed, and Haruto cursed as the potato bounced away only to stop at someone’s feet. Haruto rubbed his moist eyes as Jinlong bent over to pick up the potato, his twisted wooden cane tucked under the weathered knuckles of the other hand. Haruto’s ears grew hot in embarrassment as Jinlong chuckled at him.

“So tell me, what did a vegetable ever do to you?” Jinlong asked as he placed the potato in the basket.

“I-I just…um…” Haruto’s hands flailed, as though he were trying to snatch an explanation from the air. Jinlong laughed again, and Haruto tucked his hands into his lap, thoroughly mortified at how moronic he must look.

“There is value in manual labor, Haruto.” Jinlong’s eyes twinkled with mirth. “Without tedium the mind would not learn patience, and would not be able to wait for the most fruitful opportunity to arise. Persistence is not plucked from thin air, after all.”

“Is that why Mizael’s such a clean freak?” The question left Haruto’s mouth without him realizing, and he cringed as _I heard that_ arose from the garden plot Mizael was working in.

See? Mile wide hearing radius.

“Perhaps,” Jinlong offered, his voice lowering to a whisper, “Though between you and I, I suspect that’s a result of Mizael’s restlessness, rather than inner calm.”

“Stop distracting Haruto with your gossip you old dragon, he’s supposed to be working!” Mizael shouted. As Jinlong shot back with a comment about Mizael being nearly as old as him, Haruto took up his shovel and began determinedly digging. Glancing up, Haruto saw that Jinlong had left; vanished or simply moved on to continue his banter with Mizael, he didn’t know. The quiet that cradled the landscape suggested the former. Haruto’s shovel made contact with something hard, and he fliched, reaching down to see if he had stabbed the potato in haste. Sighing in relief, he pulled out a rock, tossing it to the side as he continued to dig.

In truth, Haruto didn’t mind digging potatoes; it was the lack of conversation that bothered him, being left alone with his thoughts for so long. It wasn’t long before Haruto’s mind wandered back to Heartland City, to the days leading up to Academia’s invasion. To the moment his brother vanished. At the time, Haruto had been twelve. It had been a little over a year since the Varian invasion, since the First Interdimensional War had ended. The aftermath was an odd time for the city; few remembered the night when the sky turned red and stone lotuses stood taller than buildings, when people vanished into ember and demons walked the streets. Only those who had reached sanctuary in Heartland Tower had remembered, and they quickly learned to keep to themselves.

They were the ones who asserted that Kaito Tenjo was not dead, even as official law proclaimed that he had perished in the fire that consumed Heartland Tower. Kaito had been dead once before, they knew, but he came back. He’d always come back.

Haruto suspected that the ones who remembered were the ones who had survived Academia’s Invasion. They were prepared, they had seen it before. Then of course, there was the Varians themselves, who knew all too much about waging a war on an entire world.

As it stood, Haruto could only suspect, hypothesize. In reality, he knew next to nothing, because he wasn’t in Heartland at the time of Academia’s attack, three years after his brother’s disappearance. He was out here, hiding away while devastation wracked the streets. And even now he hid, sitting idly as the Resistance continued to fight for their lives day by day.

He stabbed the shovel into the soil, grip shaking and white knuckled.

Haruto should have been there. He should be there. Maybe things would have gone differently. Maybe Heartland wouldn’t have been reduced to rubble, to hollow shells and ash and silent screams that haunted the streets.

Maybe people wouldn’t have died.

It was a stupid thought, and Haruto knew it. Him being there wouldn’t have made any difference. Perhaps even Mizael couldn’t have made a difference. He often wondered if their absence during the invasion ate away at Mizael as much as it did Haruto.

Probably even more, knowing how Mizael is, his mind provided.

Mizael, the most powerful of the Varian lords. To this day, Haruto still didn’t know how much Mizael was capable of. Even as his powers began to fade after being reincarnated, Mizael was still capable of things beyond what Haruto could imagine, loss of flight and teleportation aside. A part of Haruto wondered if dueling didn’t hold Mizael back, if his strict moral code was all that was restraining him from tapping into the raw destructive power that seemed to crackle from his skin when angered. A part of Haruto still had trouble connecting that star-born being with the Mizael who Haruto had grown to know, the one who chased him out of the kitchen with a ladle, who used to sing Haruto to sleep when the nightmares came to call.

Tossing another potato into the basket, Haruto stood to stretch, his knees protesting being held in one position for so long. The breeze picked up, and Haruto looked out over the gardens to the hills beyond. His gaze scanned the horizon, seeking out the dark speck to the east that was Heartland city. A large shape loomed in the distance, one that Haruto swore was not usually there Squinting his eyes, Haruto looked at the shape for a moment before he froze in horror. Standing straight on the horizon, facing directly toward them, was an Antique Gear Chaos Giant.

Academia had found them.

 

✥

 

The scream startled Mizael, a startled shriek of his name that set his heart pounding. Herbs slipping from his fingers he stood, the familiar weight of his dagger already in hand. Looking about frantically, his gaze snapped to where Haruto stood in the garden. Unharmed, Mizael noted with relief, but the feeling ebbed quickly as he took in Haruto’s expression. Following Haruto’s wide-eyed gaze, Mizael’s expression darkened as he noticed the golem looming in the clouded horizon.

“Haruto, get into the house now,” he said, his voice laced with a growl that he failed to keep out.

For once Haruto pause didn’t argue, picking up the basket of potatoes as he ran toward the villa. Watching his retreating form, Mizael waited for the sound of the door clicking shut before he turned and ran, dirt showering the area where Mizael previously stood. Energy crackled around his feet as he moved, tearing through the gardens with an inhuman speed, the plants bending beneath beneath the gale of his passing. Stones and grass flew beneath his feet. Muscles tensing, he pushed himself faster. The outlook tower rose from behind the hill and Mizael dug his heels into the grass to slow himself, using his momentum to catch one of the tower’s legs and swing himself up onto the ladder. Dagger held between his teeth, he scaled the makeshift tower, slipping through logs and branches nailed and roped together. He paused momentarily to glance at where the Antique Gear loomed, unmoving.

Mizael lifted himself up to the tower platform to find Byron already there, a pair of binoculars raised to his eyes.

“Glad that you finally noticed our company,” Byron quipped, not looking away.

“Has it moved at all?” Mizael ignored Byron’s comment, moving to stand beside him. Bracing his hand against the roof lip, Mizael leaned over the guardrail and squinted to get a better look at what they were dealing with.

“Not in the three or so minutes I’ve been looking at it. Here.” Byron lowered the binoculars and handed Mizael a long barreled gun that looked for all intents and purposes like a re-purposed rifle.

“It’s loaded?” Mizael asked, sheathing his dagger before taking the firearm, giving the body of the weapon a once over. The gun looked as though it was either a side project or something thrown together last minute by Chris or Byron. Mizael wondered if it would even work.

“You don’t need to load it, it’s got an energy container already attached,” Byron said. Mizael noticed a glowing light built into the stock. It resembled a lightbulb in a way, but he knew better than to assume that’s what it was. “The thing’s designed to destabilize an Action Field. Once the pulse reaches the Field’s boundaries, it should take effect, and our friends will find themselves without their intimidation machine they’ve got standing there. I’m not certain if it’ll actually work, but now’s a better chance to test it than any other time.”

“Anything else I should know?” Mizael asked, tone sarcasm-heavy as he tucked the gun into his belt and grabbed onto a crossbeam, lifting himself onto the roof of the outlook.

“You aim, and you shoot. If you miss, it means you’re a terrible shot and I reserve the right to mock you for it.”

“We’ll see about that.” Lowering himself to one knee, he leveled the gun at his shoulder. He paused, glancing down at Byron. “ _Oi_ , you should go back to the house with the others.”

“And miss the interesting part? I’ll pass.”

With an eyeroll and a mutter of your funeral Mizael lifted the gun once more, one eye shut tightly as he aimed at the golem. A groan shuddered through the countryside as the machine turned its head to look at Mizael, red eye gleaming despite the daylight.

Mizael clicked off the safety. His finger tightened on the trigger, and he held his breath.

The golem turned, and began to walk away.

Cursing, Mizael pulled the trigger.

The firearm shuddered, a thick black smoke oozing from the barrel. Mizael shouted and quickly pulled the weapon away from him, waving the putrid haze away from his face.

“What happened?” Byron called, leaning over the guardrail to look up at Mizael, who shoved the smoking gun in front of his face.

“The damn thing broke.”

Byron reached out and gripped the weapon by the barrel, only to drop it as the hot metal bit into the skin of his palm. The weapon fell to the ground, clattering against the rocks of the hillside.

“Well, now we know it doesn’t work,” Byron said, shaking his hand as he watched the gun skid across the stones. He looked up at the retreating golem. “I wonder what that was all about anyway.”

“It was a warning. They know there’s survivors out here.” Mizael swung down to the platform, his expression grim. “We have to move, and quickly.”

“What a pain in the ass.”

Mizael wasn’t listening, already lithely making his way down the outlook tower. From across the field, he heard someone call his name. His head jerked up to see Haruto running toward the lookout tower.

“Haruto, what are you doing!? I told you to stay in the house!” Mizael released his grip and dropped the rest of the way, landing heavily on the hard ground.

“I know,” Haruto gasped, planting his hands on his knees as he came to a stop. He sucked in deep breaths. “There’s another broadcast.”

“Now?!”

Haruto hardly nodded before Mizael was moving, picking Haruto up. The wind rushed past as Mizael took off toward the villa, Haruto ungracefully tucked beneath his arm. Far behind them, Byron stepped off the ladder and sighed as he watched the grass sway in Mizael’s wake. Hands on his hips, he turned and gave the retreating Antique Gear a rude gesture before beginning to walk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more information and content for this AU, go to o-fkt.tumblr.com  
> For me talking about this AU and lots of wip content, find me on Twitter @tindlefire


	4. We Interrupt This Program

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which old wounds become new scabs._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter so far!

Despite the trip lasting mere moments, Haruto was officially nauseous when his feet hit the ground again. The world spun around him as he shut his eyes, willing his body to regain its balance. Mizael ran into the house, having left the door open behind him. Straightening, Haruto followed quickly, ignoring his stomach as it churned in protest. He darted through the kitchen, turning down the hallway to see the lab doors close behind Mizael’s back.

With a hissing of pneumatics the lab door slid open, and Haruto found himself greeted by the dull, blank eyes of his older brother. The broadcast was nearing its conclusion, the contents message Kaito reiterated familiar, nearly identical to the previous propaganda Academia had sent.

“ _Academia fights for a righteous cause,_ ” Kaito recited, his tone monotonous, nearly bored. “ _Without the reunion of the four dimensions, they will continue to destabilize, and life as we know it would end as the dimensions tear themselves apart. We, the Xyz dimension, were granted the honor of being those whom Academia deemed to be worthy, to be important enough that Academia would seek to offer this salvation to us before the other dimensions. If a few cities fall in the process, it is a minor loss in the face of the preservation of life as we know it._

 _“These revolutionaries, this ‘Resistance’, will only do more harm than good. Their cause is righteous only through ignorance, and their efforts will only serve to damn you. They seek to prevent the reunion of the shattered and unstable dimensions. There is no other option. Heed not their words…_ ”

Kaito blinked. Haruto stilled as, for a moment, Kaito seemed to revert to his old self, eyes flickering with something as he leveled his gaze at the camera.

“ _Heed not their words. Do not let them sway you. Follow the path you believe in._ ”

A sharp intake of breath to his side pulled Haruto’s attention away from the video. He glanced to see Mizael’s eyes wide, fixated on the screen as his lips moved with a name.

_Kaito._

“ _Join Academia,_ ” Kaito continued. The light had faded from his eyes, returning to the dead stare that accompanied each of these messages.  " _Join us, and together we can continue the effort to reunite and save our world._ ”

The screen cut to static as the message ended, Kaito’s voice replaced by white noise and fuzz before flickering out as Chris cut the signal.

“That message was meant for us.” Mizael said before anyone else could speak, his eyes hard.

“How do you know?” Haruto asked. To him it seemed about the same as every other propaganda broadcast that they’d received.

“You probably don't remember this Haruto, but those were your brother’s parting words to me, back when we duelled for that final time on the moon. ‘Mizael, go follow the path you believe in’.” Mizael recited the words with a reverence, cradling each word as though it were spun from silk. “It means that they haven't broken him, that Kaito is still on our side, but then—”

“That he knows we are out here,” Chris cut in, his lips pulled into a frown.

Mizael nodded. “The message was too specific to be intended for anyone else. Academia isn’t simply aware of this general location – they know that I am here, in the very least.”

Haruto’s face paled as he fully realized what that meant. They've run out of time.

The lab door slid open, and Byron stepped into the tension-thick room, pausing as he took in the grim expressions and taught shoulders.

“Bad news I take it?” he quipped, his hands stuffed into his lab coat. Haruto bit his cheek, quelling his irritation at how casual Byron acted. The man was callous in his calm; it bothered Haruto how he never seemed to take things seriously.

“Kaito gave us a warning in the message. Academia has confirmed our location as well as the identity of at least one of us,” Chris replied.

“Who?”

“Mizael.”

Byron let out a low whistle. “They'll be sending the dogs in for sure then,” he said.

Mizael’s expression twisted, lips curled into something between a grimace and a snarl. “Let them try and bite,” he growled, voice rattling with something distinctly inhuman that set Haruto’s hair on end.

“Well—” Byron turned on his heel, walking to the corner where the Gateway stood, “—that means we need to finish this today.”

A hollow ringing emitted from the metal frame as Byron smacked his hand against it. The Gateway was nearly complete, a patchwork of components, metal, and semi-exposed wires. It lacked a handful of key components, items that were rare, difficult to pull from the scrap of Heartland’s ruins. They were parts that they would have had shipped to them, back when that was an option.

“Is it possible?” Haruto, eyeing the contraption dubiously.

“Should be if we’re smart and compile our resources properly. That and a touch of luck, really.” Byron pulled off his mask and gave the Gateway a look-over. “Problem is, we're probably not going to have much time to double-check our calibrations, let alone confirm which dimension we’ve managed to connect with. It'll be a blind shot. We can only hope we’ll connect and not end up leading to the unreality between worlds.”

“As long as we get close to a stable dimension, I can finish the jump. Just make sure that this works better than the gun from earlier,” Mizael said. He turned toward Chris. “I'm going to gear up. Write me a list of whatever you still need.”

“Wait, I'll come with you.” Haruto moved to follow Mizael out of the lab, only to be stopped by Mizael’s hands against his shoulders. Mizael gave him a long look.

“It'll take less time,” Haruto said, willing himself not to wilt under the intensity of Mizael’s gaze. “With two people, it'll take less time. You need my help.”

Mizael held him there for a moment longer before nodding.

“You’re still grounded. Be ready in five.”

Haruto glowed with victory as he watched Mizael leave the lab. The elated feeling fled quickly as he processed Mizael’s words:

“Wait, _I'm grounded!?_ ”

 

✥

 

The motorbike bumped and jostled as it tore down the uneven roads of the city outskirts, Haruto practically clinging to Mizael as they sped over hills and past intersections. No one used these roads now, having long since fled from the city limits or joined the population that had amassed in the city-proper. Still, Haruto couldn't help but cringe as they flew through a red light without so much as braking. Haruto tightened his hold as they jolted around a corner, the shaft of Mizael’s _guan dao_ digging into his ribs as he flattened himself against Mizael’s back.

“You doing alright!?” Mizael shouted above the engine, casting a glance over his shoulder.

“Just peachy!” Haruto called back, lifting his head. He squeaked as they hit a bump, curling into Mizael’s shoulder.

“Good! We're almost there!”

It was another two-or-so minutes before the gods answered Haruto’s prayers and finally they reached their destination. The motorcycle slowed, the engine’s roar dimishing to a gentle purr. Mizael cautiously guided the bike through the empty streets, carefully scoping the area as they putted by. Slipping past a fallen street light, he pulled the motorcycle into an alley and cut the engine. Haruto quickly disembarked, hopping a few times to rid his legs of their shaking.

“We need to be quick,” Mizael said, shoving the keys into a pocket of his coat and adjusting the _guan dao_ slung across his back. “It will be dusk soon, and we don't want to stick around for too long after night falls.”

Heartland City had its share of terrors during the day, but at night the area could deadly. Yet another thing to burn away at their already shortening wick of time. Haruto nodded, and turned to head out.

“Wait. Take this,” Mizael called out after him.

Haruto turned and quickly scrambled to catch something Mizael tossed at him. He unfurled his fingers to gaze at the pocket knife resting in his palms. It was small and black identical to the one that Haruto knew Chris to keep in his boot. He looked up at Mizael.

“It was supposed to be a present for your birthday, but now seems like a better time,” Mizael explained. “I'll show you how to handle a knife properly later. For now, just try not to stab yourself if you have to use it. Keep your comm system on and meet me back here in two hours.”

“Oh! Uh, thank you!” Mizael just waved as he walked away, disappearing down the street. Tucking the knife into his boot, Haruto jogged down the street, scanning over the copy of the supplies list Chris had given him. It wasn't much, seeing as the Gateway was close to completion. But these parts were harder to find, some of them being the types of things that they'd normally order from other scientific institutions. And until the Resistance or one of the gangs decided to set up a technology bazaar, they'd have to scrounge for these themselves.

Haruto recognized a component that he was fairly confident could be found in some high-end microwaves. He pulled out his hoverboard, waiting for the machine to unfold itself before mounting it and speeding toward the area’s culture district. If there's one place that'd have expensive kitchen appliances, it'd be one of the high-class restaurants that used to draw crowds on a Saturday evening. Haruto hoped the kitchens would remain somewhat intact, that the  looters decided to aim for either the unspoiled food and the cash box before breaking into microwaves.

 

✥

 

The first restaurant had proved him wrong, the kitchen completely demolished and picked clean. His heart sunk as the next three produced the same results. Eventually he came to a small sushi house, tucked away from the main drag through a small side road. The main room was as torn up as the others, but the kitchen was surprisingly intact, with only a single shelf knocked off the wall and the broken china swept into a corner. Haruto quickly made his way over to the microwave, unhooking it from the wall and beginning to dismantle it. In his focus, he failed to notice the other presence in the kitchen, remaining unaware until they spoke:

“So, d’ya make a hobby of takin’ apart other people’s kitchen stuff or sumthin’?”

Haruto whipped around to face the voice, screwdriver pointed at the newcomer like a weapon. Leaning against the doorjamb was the gang leader from yesterday – Asuka – watching Haruto disinterestedly.

“What do you want?” He asked, the screwdriver still held in front of him.

“I wanna know why ye’r takin’ apart my microwave.” She jerked her thumb at the discombobulated appliance. Haruto blinked.

“This is yours?”

“Yep.”

Haruto groaned, palm smacking his forehead. Of course, it was just his luck that the place he'd end up sneaking into would belong to the gang that planned on beating him to a pulp.

_Wait… if this was their hideout, where was…?_

“Are the rest of them here?” He glanced around nervously.

“Camilla and the boys? Nah.” Asuka waved her hand dismissively. “They're out makin’ the rounds.”

“Camilla?”

“Th’ big tall’un. You should know better than to make assumptions based on appearance, kid.”

 _Right. Okay._ Haruto shifted his weight, his arm growing tired from holding the screwdriver in front of him. Inside his boot, the knife pressed against his calf. Asuka gave him a bored look.

“Um-” he started.

“You gonna finish takin’ that apart er what?”

…Huh?

“You mean you don't mind?” Haruto shook his head, and tightened his grip on the screwdriver. “Are you telling me you changed your mind about beating me up!?”

“And deal wit’ yer friend again? Shit no. I got a bruise the size of a grapefruit from the last time. I thought he broke my goddamn’d ribs. As fer th’nuke, this area don' get power anyway. We can't use it.” Asuka pushed off the doorframe with her hip, sauntering over to where Haruto stood. “Lower that screwdriver and show me what yer doin’. You look dumber than normal like that.”

Haruto felt his ears grow hot in embarrassment. Turning back to the microwave, he continued working on removing the back panel to get a better look at the insides.

“So I take it yer not lookin’ fer a microwave.”

“No, we're looking for parts.”

“Yeah? What for?” She said, leaning closer. Interest sparked in her eyes.

Haruto glared at her. “Like I'm telling some gang leader.”

“Awwww c’mon kid, its not like we're that bad.”

“You swung a bat at my head!”

“‘S not like it would’a killed you.”

“It had screws in it!!”

She clicked her tongue. “Yeah I guess that would’a hurt a bit.”

Haruto scoffed as he pulled the back plate of the microwave away, thanking his luck for not completely abandoning him as he laid eyes on the part he needed. Asuka peered over his arm as he began to carefully ease it from its clasp.

“Is they valuable er sumthin’?”

“No. Not really. It's not very useful to anyone who doesn't know much about mechanics, and I doubt you have some sort of technology black market going.”

“An’ what makes you say that?”

Haruto turned to scrutinize her, trying to figure out if she was being serious or not. She held his gaze briefly before a grin broke her solemn expression.

“I'm just messin’ wit’cha,” she said, punching him in the shoulder.

He flinched, causing the part to break away from its casing. His breath hitched, and quickly he held it up to the fading sunlight, turning the piece over in his hands as he tried to discern any possible damage. The piece shone in the light, whole and without cracks. He breathed a sigh of relief. Pocketing the part, he walked out of the kitchen, picking his way toward the sushi house’s front door.

“Eh? So that's it? Yer just gonna leave the thing a mess in my kitchen?” Asuka called, trailing behind him.

“Well, without electricity, you wouldn't even use a kitchen aside from water. Besides—” he turned to look at her from the threshold, “—if this really is where your gang was staying, I doubt a gang that values its turf so dearly would just let me leave with the knowledge of where its headquarters lie.”

Asuka grinned again.

“Y’er a smart kid, Haruto Tenjo. They weren't lyin’ bout that. Oh, and by the way, this area belongs to a group that's far less friendly than us. Keep an eye out this time, kid.” Asuka turned and walked down the street, saluting with her back turned. “An’ good luck tryin’ to get that brother of yours back!”

Haruto was already flying down the streets again before he realized that he had never even mentioned Kaito to the gang leader.

Elsewhere in the city, Mizael pressed his palm to the ever-sealed doors of Kaito’s laboratory, Heartland’s sole building that remained intact and undisturbed. No one had been able to enter, the building locked to anyone who wasn’t Kaito. Mizael let himself remain there for a moment before turning away, leaving the building to fade into the haze behind him.

 

✥

 

If asked, Chris would admit that it was an old habit, rooted in stress during his early teens. Dopamine sold in a pack, twelve sticks of short-term ease and black lung. It was an easy addiction to kill when the rage sat deep, burning hotter than the nicotine ever could. But when the numbness returned, the grey seeping into the corners of his mind like a draft, he’d found his fingers itching for a slightly used pack that had never quite found its way out if the pocket of his coat.

Chris chewed on the unlit cigarette, the logical part of him sharply denying his urge to excuse himself and light it properly. Instead, he looked over the Interdimensional Gateway schematics. The papers were worn from being flipped through, creased and folded and riddled with tears hastily stitched with tape. His eyes roved the countless blueprints and notes, mind processing near nothing of what he was reading.

He rolled the cigarette between his teeth.

“Hey, dad?” The paper tasted stale on his tongue.

“Worried about something Chris?” Byron glanced up from where he was making adjustments to the wiring in the Gateway. Without his mask on, it was easy to see how the nebula had continued to spread, the star eating away at his flesh. Chris hated it.

“I didn't say I was worried.”

“You only call me ‘dad’ when you're worried,” Byron replied.

“It’s just…” Chris paused, shuffling the papers for what must have been the tenth time as he tried to think of how to say what he was thinking. “I’m concerned, about Kaito. The timing seems too convenient, that the only time he'd make an effort to reassure anyone is right after Academia found us.”

The cigarette bent as Chris’ tooth cut through the paper, flooding his mouth with a foul taste. He grimaced and spat it into the trash, running his tongue over his teeth before taking a sip of his coffee. It was bad, brewed from low-grade beans that were probably expired by this point. But it was better than no coffee, and expired coffee was certainly better than the flavor of chewed cigarettes.

“It’s certainly possible,” Byron said. “Mizael seems to have faith in him though, and not the biased kind we can expect Haruto to have.”

“What about you?”

Byron shrugged. “I don't personally know Kaito as well as you do. I know a good deal _about_ him, but that’s not the same. I'm not someone who can judge his moral character.”

Chris frowned into his cup, left with as little clarity as he previously had. He trusted Kaito. But as much as much as he trusted Kaito, he was equally unsure of what Academia was capable of. Mizael had told Chris of rumors that said even the Resistance had its fair share of people leaving to join Academia; be it out of desperation or belief in the cause, it was unclear. But the fact stood that Academia’s propaganda efforts made a difference, possibly being even more influential in areas that haven't yet been destroyed like Heartland City was. Chris suspected that they had trapped Kaito in a Catch-22, using Haruto or something else as a focal point through which to manipulate Kaito into going along initially. But Chris didn't know how far their influence had spread. He was concerned less about Kaito endorsing Academia – though that was a possibility – than he was about Kaito simply…not fighting against them. Which presented its own set of problems.

 

“Chris,” Byron said, “you can turn this over in your mind all you want, but there's really no way to know for sure until you get there. Kaito’s easily manipulated, but he's also one to snap out of it the moment he sees an out. Even if he has turned, I doubt it will be impossible to get him back.”

Chris sighed, picking up his pencil and setting to rechecking the calculations again. Maybe he should talk to Mizael about it, but a part of him worried that it would only serve to start an argument. Chris was sick of arguing, of the stress eating away at them until they found themselves spitting hot air and empty insults at each other.

He took a sip of his coffee, holding the liquid on his tongue for a moment before letting it slide down his throat. Maybe the expired beans would fester away in his stomach and he'd die in his sleep someday. It wouldn't be a bad way to go.

 

✥

 

_Blink._

_He could hear the sound of footsteps behind two feet of steel walling._

_Blink._

_The keys clicked, code spilling from his fingertips across the screen, salvation as sweet as the noose of a hangman._

_Blink._

_It used to help. Now it was little more than a useless tick. He wonders why he bothers anymore._

_Blink._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more information and content for this AU, go to o-fkt.tumblr.com  
> For me talking about this AU and lots of wip content, find me on Twitter @tindlefire


	5. Tension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which bonds are tested._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Noooot sure how I feel about this chapter. Enjoy.

The setting sun rosied the sky as they drove back to the villa. Urban ruin faded to flora, the motorcycle carrying them away from Heartland and into the landscape of the eastern mountains. The trip was long – as always – and the sound of the engine hindered any attempt at conversation. Haruto found himself alone with his thoughts for the next few hours, his mind cycling through endless anxieties and what-ifs, the tension of Academia’s presence still fresh and heavy on his shoulders. Eventually his thoughts grew slow, and fatigue weighted his eyelids. With the hum of the engine lulling, Haruto slipped into a precarious state of sleep, slumped against Mizael’s back for an unknown amount of time.

He was violently awoken by his body pitching to the side, threatening to fall off the motorcycle entirely. Mizael’s iron grip on Haruto’s arms around his waist halted Haruto’s dirtbound trajectory, and he cling to Mizael securely, shaken wide awake by the incident. Looking around, he saw the mountains before them, the asphalt roads of Heartland’s perimeter having long given way to the dirt paths of the countryside. The road pitched upward, and through the minimal visibility the motorcycle headlights offered, Haruto could tell that they were nearing the villa. His legs felt numb and his mouth dry, a part of him entirely convinced that he had swallowed a bug sometime during his impromptu nap.

The motorcycle slowed as they passed the outlook tower where Mizael and Byron had confronted the Chaos Giant that morning. They continued at the gentler pace down the road until Mizael pulled the motorcycle to a halt at the inner outlook tower. The motorcycle idled as he flashed the headlight rapidly, the pattern signalling to whomever was watching from the villa window that it was friendly company. They had become relaxed about signalling on the last year or so, having grown too comfortable in their assumed anonymity. But with the strain of Academia’s influence apparent like a reopened wound, their old habits and procedures had been quickly revived and reinforced. They waited for the responding signal before continuing to putz down the road, Haruto gripping the canvas of Mizael’s jacket loosely as they gently rolled over the dirt and stones.

Chris met them at the villa entry, the light from the kitchen flooding through the open door into the dark night. They dismounted, Haruto adjusting the backpack across his shoulders as Mizael rolled the motorcycle to rest among a ticket of wildflowers along the whitewashed wall of the villa; rusted metal bucket clanged as Mizael kicked it out of the way.

“Any luck?” Chris asked, stepping out of the way as Haruto made for the kitchen door.

“Yeah, actually. We couldn't find all of them, but we were able to get the alternatives you listed. Which also was a pain in the ass,” Haruto replied, slipping the backpack from his shoulders onto the kitchen table. “You would not believe how many restaurants I had to go through to find an intact microwave.”

The chair legs scraped against the linoleum as Chris took a seat, watching as Haruto unloaded the contents of the backpack onto the table. Taking a piece in his hands, he turned it over, scrutinizing the quality.

“Please tell me this is everything,” Haruto said, as he pulled the last component from the backpack, a mess of wires dangling from his grip. Chris leaned back in his chair, ignoring the way his fingers itched for the pack lying on his desk in the lab as he looked over the collection of odds and ends spread before him.

“This looks like everything. We're just going to have to hope that the alternative parts work,” he said, finally.

“Make them work then.” They looked up to see Mizael step in the kitchen, kicking the door shut behind him, hands busy with tying up his hair. He picked up the potato basket from where it had been abandoned on the floor that morning and dropped it on the countertop. Dishes clanked together as he rummaged through an overhead cabinet. “Haruto, come peel the potatoes.”

Haruto stood, slipping in beside Mizael. The kitchen was small, the countertop space available minimal. They stood nearly shoulder to shoulder as they worked, Haruto’s elbow bumping Mizael’s arm occasionally as he dragged the knife over the potato, the brown skin peeling away to uncover the white flesh beneath. They worked in silence, the sound of knives cutting and clinking dishes filling the kitchen.

Chris was gone, having brought the components into the lab to be installed. It was almost hard to believe that they were nearly done with the Gateway. Normally, the project would have taken a year-or-so to complete, but without any proper access to resources, the Gateway had taken them nearly three years to build, constructed of cast off metal and lucky finds. During the times where their luck ran dry, Haruto had begun to doubt if they would ever complete the Gateway. But now...

Haruto looked over the mound of peels scattered over the wooden countertop, piled high and threatening to spill onto the floor. Scooping them into his arms, turning to dispose them in the trash can. Something caught the corner of his eye, and Haruto glanced over to see a black mist creeping across the linoleum floor; a lightless void that hummed softly and sparked weakly with the occasional star-like flash. It moved slowly, twisting and scattering, pulling itself back together the moment it spread too far.

“Um, Mizael? Chris? There's something weird crawling across the kitchen floor, please tell me it's not an alien or a demon or something.”

Chris and Mizael came to Haruto’s sides, joining him in staring at the thing on the floor. Chris frowned, and opened his mouth to say something.

“I do—”

His words were cut short by Mizael, who sighed and tossed the dishrag he was holding onto the countertop. The mist constricted as Mizael crouched and reached out, folding in on itself and spinning into a tight ball of matter; now that it wasn’t so spread out, the mist resembled a nebula. Haruto frowned as he recognized where he had seen it before. Chris swore under his breath. Mizael stood, the nebula suspended above his palm, contained in a soft light that seemed to radiate from Mizael’s skin. His hair floated as he walked past, lifted by the energy that charged his presence whenever he activated his powers. Chris and Haruto watched as he made his way down the hall to the lab, the doors sliding shut behind him.

Mizael was greeted by darkness, the lab interior lit only by the teal haze of a flickering computer screen and the soft gold of Mizael himself. In the dim light, he could see Byron’s unmoving silhouette perched in front of the computer screen. His left arm was misshapen, crooked and disproportionate to his child-like body. The black mist drifted from the mass, nebulaic matter destabilizing and floating away.

“You're going to lose too much if you let yourself space off like this.” Mizael flicked the energy he was carrying at Byron. The nebula contracted, twisting itself back together, reshaping Byron’s arm into its normal form.

Byron lifted his arm, looking at his fingers as he flexed them. He turned to Mizael and grinned.

“What?” Mizael demanded.

“Spaced out. You made a pun.”

“Be serious.”

“I am serious. I didn't think you were even capable of making puns, accidentally or otherwise.”

Mizael leveled him with a glare, and Byron’s grin dropped.

“It’s getting worse, isn’t it?” Mizael asked.

“It's not like I'm going to be sticking around much longer anyway. This was a quick fix, you and I both know it. It was bound to unravel eventually.”

Yes, Mizael knew. He knew because he was the one to “fix” Byron in the first place, to pull together a semi-living form from what remained of Byron’s unraveling body and the matter that was available at hand. It wasn't Mizael’s idea – it was Vector, as it always was. Vector, laughing at his own wit as he twisted his fingers in Durbe’s heartstrings and used them to jerk him around like a marionette. Mizael respected Durbe as a comrade, but his temporary leadership left a sour taste on Mizael’s tongue. Durbe made a habit of executing orders from a bleeding heart that spoke louder than his logical reasoning. The majority of Durbe’s decisions were ones Mizael had opposed, but was forced to comply to for the sake of preserving the Varian world. Mizael was the only one capable of stitching together a dead man, of granting power to mortals that they all knew would only serve to destroy them in the end. As it did with Byron.

As it nearly did with Haruto.

The sensation of nails breaking the skin of his palm dragged Mizael away from his thoughts. Uncurling his fingers, he glanced down, unsurprised to see his fingers a bright ochre shade, long claws extending from his nail-beds. He blinked, willing the stone to return to fragile flesh and bone, to deny their star-born strength and give into soft vulnerability. He flexed his fingers, and the ochre gave way to human skin nestled beneath.

“You alright?” Byron asked. Mizael shook his head and shoved his hands into his pocket.

“I’m fine. You're not. That's the problem.”

“Look, Mizael, if I'm going to be blunt, I'm past the point of giving a shit. There's something about not being able to eat or sleep that’s dehumanizing. Getting the Gateway working is all that's keeping me here. If that happens, I'll be satisfied.”

Mizael leveled him with a long look, which Byron returned unflinchingly. Mizael signed.

“Regardless of your own feelings regarding... _this_ , I'm still responsible for it,” Mizael said. His fingers curled in his pocket. Byron scoffed and waved him off.

“Beating yourself up over this is pointless. I made my own mistakes, your tool of a leader made yours for you. Besides, you being self-deprecating is unnerving to watch.” Byron glanced at the door. “I think your stew is burning.”

Mizael bristled and swore, quickly bolting for the hallway. The doors slid open and Mizael found himself quickly twisting to avoid running straight into Chris on the other side. He hooked his arm around his waist as Chris fell back, Mizael’s momentum pulling them into a lose mockery of a dance.

“Stew is burning,” Mizael explained quickly, pulling Chris out of the dip and setting him on his feet. He was headed for the kitchen when cold fingers wrapped firmly around his wrist, grounding him.

“Wait—” Chris glanced over his shoulder and pulled Mizael into the hallway. His expression was grim; he spoke in a low, harsh whisper. “There's something you're not telling me. About…about my dad. What's going on?”

“Christopher—”

“I have a right to know,” he pressed. He was still holding Mizael’s wrist.

Mizael shifted, uncomfortable. He didn't know how to explain it to Chris. Byron should explain this, not Mizael. But if there's something Mizael learned in the past five years, it was that Byron was somewhat of a bastard and an incredibly lackluster father. Mizael took a deep breath, and his nose wrinkled at the smell of burning. Turning his wrist over, Mizael locked his fingers around Chris’ wrist, paralleling the gesture.

“Later,” he said, looking Chris in the eye as he squeezed his wrist slightly. “I promise.”

Mizael pressed their lips together softly, ignoring the way his heart twisted at the contact. He would tell Chris, but now was not the time. Chris let go of his wrist as Mizael pulled back, his gaze heavy with the expectation of Mizael keeping his promise.

The stew wasn't burning. Left unattended, it had simply boiled over, the droplets left across the stove-top producing the stench that Byron had noticed. Mizael sighed in relief, turning the stove down. Haruto walked into the kitchen, bandages on his fingers and bewildered expression on his face as he was met with a very disheveled Mizael.

“So…I take it it wasn't an alien?”

Mizael groaned.

 

✥

 

The smell of stew wafted through the villa, and Haruto eyed the pot impatiently from his perch at the kitchen table. Mizael had excused him after he had finished with the potatoes, but Haruto found himself with little to do, Chris having long disappeared behind the doors of the lab. Haruto returned his attention to the textbook he had propped up against the lip of the table. A large diagram of a flower spread across one of the pages, the text detailing its medicinal uses and applications. The textbook was Mizael’s, actually, a gift from Kaito from years ago. Haruto had been hesitant to ask, but Mizael was willing to loan it to him on the pretense that he kept it far away from any dirt or liquid in the vicinity. Currently, the textbook was acting as more of a leash than it was reading material, the dog-tagged and lovingly-used pages preventing him from giving into his stomach’s loud demands and stealing the piping hot, under-cooked stew.

Haruto sighed as his stomach growled again.

“The stew will be done in a few minutes. You could always check in on those two if you need something to do. Just put the book away first,” Mizael said, reappearing in the kitchen with a bowlful of chopped leeks. A cloud of aromatic steam erupted from the pot as he lifted the lid and dumped the leeks inside, the scent sending hunger washing over Haruto with enough force to make his head spin. Haruto nodded, and held his breath as he ducked from the kitchen, textbook safely tucked under his arm. He placed the book on the cushion of the worn floral armchair where Mizael liked to sit in the rare moments where he wasn't flitting about.

Poking his head into the lab, Haruto spotted Chris and Byron in a corner, quietly discussing something over one of the work tables. Unwilling to blatantly interrupt, Haruto scuffed his boots loudly against the floor as he stepped into the lab, drawing their attention.

“Mizael says the food’s gonna be done in a few minutes,” Haruto said, pointing over his shoulder toward the kitchen.

“Thank you, Haruto. We’ll be out soon,” Chris replied. The dismissal wasn’t lost on Haruto, but the sting was smothered by how distraught Chris looked. Tired, too, but that was nothing new. _Bad timing much_ , Haruto thought, quickly ducking out into the hall.

Byron and Chris emerged from the lab just as the stew was done, Haruto ladling out bowls for everyone as Mizael quickly tidied the kitchen. The table was quiet as they all sat around eating. Byron seemed completely unperturbed by whatever it was that was bothering Chris. Mizael seemed frustrated, occasionally glaring in Byron’s direction. Haruto, completely ignorant regarding what was going on, sat uncomfortably and rolled a potato around in his mouth before biting into it, the steam burning his tongue.

But Haruto was never one to let awkward silences stand, and decided that he would have to be the one to break it.

“So...is the Gateway done, now?” he tried.

“Yes, technically. Whether or not it’ll connect is another story,” Chris said. His spoon scraped against the side of the bowl. “The leap itself is going to be treacherous, and then there’s the fallibility of the plan itself...and that’s still not accounting for the plethora of other complications that could arise once we make this attempt. We know next to nothing about the interior of Academia. We’ll be completely blind upon going in. Furthermore, we can’t assume that Kaito himself is going to be willing to return without any resistance.”

Anger flared as Haruto processed what Chris said, his cheeks hot with ire. “Are you serious!? Are you seriously saying that you think Kaito could have joined Academia’s cause!?”

“I’m _not_ saying that, Haruto,” Chris snapped. “Calm down and listen to—”

Haruto stood, slamming his spoon down on the table. “No! _You_ listen to me! There’s no way that Kaito’s turned against us. You’ve _seen_ what he look like in those broadcasts! It’s asinine that you’re even suggesting that he could be on their side when he looks like that!!”

“It’s _equally_ as asinine to simply assume that he hasn’t! If we want to get out of this alive, we can’t make decisions based on unfounded beliefs like _naive children_!”

Haruto flinched, dropping his gaze to his feet. Normally, this would be the end of the argument, with Haruto silenced and defeated once again. But this time the anger stayed, the fires refusing to be suffocated by Chris’ harsh words. After all that Chris had done, after all the times Haruto and Kaito had forgiven him...

“I’d rather be a naive child than be a miserable, scornful _bastard_.”

Haruto bolted from the kitchen and yanked the villa door open, running out into the night. Activating his hoverboard, he nearly mounted it before it was finished unfolding. Haruto slammed his foot on the pedal, the hoverboard carrying him away. Distantly, he could hear Mizael calling out for him but he ignored it, continuing blindly through the countryside. Hot tears fell down his cheeks, and he wiped them away angrily, intent on getting as far away from the villa as possible.

 

✥

 

Mizael stood as Haruto fled from the kitchen, his chair clattering against the floor. He ran to the doorway in time to see Haruto take off on his hoverboard as fast as the thing could go. Swearing, Mizael went to run after Haruto only to be stopped by a hand on his arm. He whipped around, lips prematurely curling, harsh words ready to be thrown at either Chris or Byron. They died on his tongue as he laid eyes on Jinlong, who was looking at him with concern. Mizael’s spitfire anger deflated, and Jinlong patted his arm.

“You should probably give Haruto time before seeking him out. He has the same inconsolable anger as his brother – it is one you must let burn through before seeking to make amends.”

“I’m not the one who should be making amends here,” Mizael said, shooting a glare over his shoulder only to find Chris’ chair empty. Byron shrugged when Mizael looked at him, and Mizael let out a frustrated groan. “I swear to the gods, they will all be the death of m—”

“Mizael.” He felt Jinlong’s grip on his arm tighten. Jinlong was looking out at the dark horizon, east of where Haruto had vanished moments before. “We have company.”

Mizael’s heart leapt to his throat as he recognized the direction as the one where the Chaos Giant had stood that morning. “Is it—?”

“No.” Jinlong shook his head. “There’s far more than just one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more information and content for this AU, go to o-fkt.tumblr.com  
> For me talking about this AU and lots of wip content, find me on Twitter @tindlefire


	6. Air Raid Siren

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which decisions become regrets._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am admittedly very pleased with this chapter.  
> I had to retype it onto my phone, so its very possible this will be riddled with typos.

The end of the cigarette flared, the embers approximately 72 millimeters from Chris' skin. He sat in the shadows, perched on the seat of the motorcycle, back leaned against the villa wall. Tall grasses and wildflowers swayed in the cool breeze around the craters of his feet, the ones crushed beneath the soles of his boots fluttering their petals in vain. In the distance, Chris could hear Mizael calling for Haruto. He had made his escape at the same time as Haruto, slipping out the back door to curl up in the dark like a rodent. The cigarette smoldered as he breathed in, watching impassively as 72 millimeters became 65. He exhaled, the noxious smoke clouding his vision.

For what was certainly not the first time in his life, Chris found himself faced with two uncomfortable facts; one, he had never quite learned to control his temper, and two, he always seemed to take it out on the people who deserved it least. It had long since crossed the threshold of being a minor character flaw, and now Chris couldn't deny that  somewhere along the way he’d become an asshole. 

His gut twisted as he recalled the look on Haruto's face. It had been brief, quickly replaced with anger, but for a moment Haruto had worn the very same expression that Kaito had so long ago, on that night when Chris had left Heartland Tower in a storm of anger and betrayal.

_ It had been raining then, too,  _ he mused, as the tin roof of the  _ porte-cochère _ began to ring with the sound of raindrops. The water dripped through a rusted hole in the overhang, falling onto the toe of Chris' boot and puddling at the gravel and wildflowers around his feet. He didn't bother to move them.

He heard Mizael shout again, the sound muffled by the sudden crack of thunder. He took another drag from the cigarette. Either Mizael was still looking for Haruto or he had gotten into an argument with Chris' father. The latter wouldn't last long; Byron simply didn't  _ care _ enough for any quarrel to gain much traction. About anything. At all. Chris wondered vaguely if it was better back in the days when Byron cared too much about the wrong things. At least back then Byron gave a shit. However detrimental and abusive it had been, however  _ insane _ , a part of him couldn't help but feel as though it had been better than this.

At the root of it all, Chris supposed he had someone to blame his asshole-genetics on; regardless of the fact that he knew genealogy was far more complex than that, that there were triggers and recessive components that all dealt into the mess of hereditary personality.

_ Factor in childhood experiences, possible trauma, environment, political class, social class, natural disposition, religious and societal influences _ ...he mused, taking another drag from the 53 millimeters left. Thunder rolled through the sky; beneath the roar he heard Mizael call again. The sound of shoes scrabbling against the gravel broke through the rainfall, and Chris ducked out from under the  _ porte-cochére _ to see Mizael standing a ways away, looking around frantically. Chris shouted over the thunder, and Mizael perked up, dashing to where Chris stood.

Chris was thrown off balance as Mizael slammed into his chest. The cigarette fell from his lips and onto the wet ground as he dug his heels in and wrapped his arms around Mizael, righting them with a jerk that his back would certainly hate him for later.

"What's wrong!?" he shouted, over the din of the storm.

Lightning cracked through the sky, illuminating Mizael's face. His lovely features were marred with fear, eyes wide with panic. Chris felt his own throat tighten. When the man who could level a mountain wore an expression so dire, it was infectious as a plague. Mizael's lips moved, and he scowled as the words were lost to the thunder above. Reaching up, he curled his fingers around the lapels of Chris' coat, pulling him down to speak in his ear.

"They're here. Academia is  _ here _ , Christopher." Mizael's voice was hoarse; from use or from fear Chris didn't know. "Haruto's still out there. We need to find him. Before they get to him, we need to—"

Mizael's voice broke, and he flinched away from Chris to cough violently into his hand. Chris laid his hand on Mizael's back instinctively, rubbing over the coarse wet canvas jacket in a soothing motion. His heart felt raw and heavy, as though someone had torn it from his chest and replaced it with a stone. Chris looked out over the pitch-black landscape, shrouded by the rain and the clouds. Somewhere out there was Haruto; somewhere out there, unseen and menacing, was Academia. His lips pressed together, teeth digging into the flesh.

"We have to go," Mizael croaked. "Academia...they're east of here."

Chris nodded. They sprinted back to the villa, Mizael a distant trail of light far ahead of Chris. His feet slipped on the wet ground but he kept his balance, uncaring of the mud that caked his boots and the hem of his pants. He entered the villa at full speed, tearing down the hall into the bedroom he'd been using. Hidden beneath stacks of books and notes, his duel disk remained where he had left it, hastily stuffed into an unmarked box. It was odd, actually putting the disk on his arm rather than summoning it as he used to. But he and his brothers had ceased using the crests when Mizael had tentatively informed him that they weren't  _ quite _ sure if the secondhand use of Varian energies would have a detrimental effect on a human's sanity  or not.

The disk was the same old model, a device of ornate metal and sensors instead of the solid light that was used these days. With how little he found himself using it, he had never bothered to upgrade, having already left Heartland at the time the newer models hit the shelves. The weight of the duel disk was familiar, the fabric and cool metal tighter than he remembered. He'd gained muscle somewhere in the events of the last five years.

He carefully slid his deck in, a once-practiced movement that now felt rusty. The cards shuffled themselves and clicked into place. Plucking his pocketknife from the dresser, he slipped it into his boot, the press of metal against his calf a comfortable pressure. Five years ago, he would have been vehemently against the idea of stabbing his opponent in the possibility that he'd lose a duel. Now, the prospect was comforting rather than distasteful; another option that would let him live to see another day. Chris shook his arm once to make sure his deck was locked in place before he ran toward the kitchen. It had been years since Chris last dueled – the sport had long ceased being something he did for fun, and without reason to take up the cards he hadn't touched them since, willing the foul memories to gather dust along with them. Running the card combinations over in his mind, he could only hope that he hadn't completely forgotten the structure of his deck in the years that had passed. He was thankful that Astral had told him to keep Dyson Sphere - this deck was built entirely around the Numbers card, and without it he'd be left with a broken strategy.  _ Why _ Astral had told him to keep it was still a mystery, one that he may never know the answer to so long as the location of both Astral and Yuuma remained unidentified.

Mizael was waiting for him in the kitchen, visibly anxious; a stark contrast to Byron, who sat perched atop a chair stirring a cup of tea. Jinlong stood beside Mizael, glancing at his charge with concern. Upon seeing Chris, the dragon seemed somewhat relieved.

Chris didn’t bother to acknowledge Byron as he strode past. A part of him kicked himself for it –  _ he's your father, you should be showing respect – _ but he quelled the thought. There was no time left for Byron and his antics, Chris decided, not anymore.

"What's the consensus?" he asked.

"You and I will intercept the squadron. Byron will stay here and keep an eye on the Gateway and out for trouble," Mizael said.

"And Haruto? I assume he's still not answering his comm unit."

"No, he's..."  Mizael frowned, worry flashing through his eyes. "We'll have to look along the way, but the best we can do is to try to stop Academia before they end up anywhere near him."

Chris usually would be ticked that Haruto was being so irresponsible, but he reminded himself that this was entirely his own fault and that Chris himself would probably not be interested in socializing if someone pulled that kind of accusation on someone he cared for.

"You two shouldn't be so worried about Haruto. He's a perfectly capable duelist,” Byron stated, taking a sip of his tea. He shrugged as they turned to look at him, before lowering the cup onto the saucer with a decisive clack. "Well, think about it. He's learned from some of the best duelists to ever live. Kaito, Astral,  _ you _ —" he pointed to Mizael with the teaspoon, "—so if he can't duel by now, then the kid's an idiot. Which he’s not. So I don't see any reason to be concerned. Besides, he's Kaito's brother—they don't die easily, and if they do, they tend to not stay dead."

Mizael's face twisted into a sour expression at Byron's words, but it lasted only a moment, shoulders dropping.

"You're right, I suppose," he conceded with a sigh.

“Of course I’m  _ right _ . I’ll be here if Haruto shows up, so get going.”

Byron waved them off, returning to his tea as they left the kitchen and crossed the threshold into the cold, dark night.Mizael tossed Chris the keys, settling behind the taller man as the motorcycle rumbled to life, tires squealing in the dirt until they found purchase. Jinlong flew beside them in his true form, and if Mizael were to close his eyes, he could almost ignore the roar of the motorcycle and the rain stinging his skin and pretend as though the world weren't crumbling around them, that he was still soaring through the skies of ancient China, some eight hundred years ago. He kept his eyes open instead, peering into the black as they sped through the countryside, gaze trying to pierce the thick darkness, searching in a vain hope of seeing the thin form of Haruto dotting the landscape somewhere.

✥

Haruto wasn't very far from the villa.

Behind the craggy slope of a hill, he sat hiding, tucked beneath a tree. It would take him only a few minutes to return to the villa. It was something he was sorely tempted to do, with how the rain poured from the skies and the sharp rocks of the hillside dug into his legs. But returning would mean losing, so for now Haruto was  _ perfectly content _ to sit miserably on the side of this stupid hill, nursing the stupid arm that he'd stupidly dragged though the stupid briars at high speeds while flying away from stupid Chris and his stupid cynicism. 

He sneezed.

_ Stupid. _

It's what Haruto was being. Right now, at this very moment. But this was more than a matter of wounded pride, and Haruto refused to back down. Insult Haruto, sure, he'd be pissed but he'd get over it. Insulting  _ Kaito _ was another matter. To insult Kaito while he was in the hands of the enemy, questioning the loyalties of a prisoner of  _ war _ … anger heated his veins, and he again felt the desire to tear something apart. He settled for digging his nails into his arm, hissing as the briar-scratches stung in objection.

Perhaps he would be slightly more lenient with anyone else. Slightly. The concern wasn't entirely illogical, if Haruto were to be honest. His rose glass had long been shattered; he'd seen and experienced enough tragic, horrific betrayals in his lifetime to  _ know _ that it was possible. But for Chris to question Kaito? Chris, who had stabbed them in the back at the worst moment, questioning the loyalties of  _ Kaito,  _ who had fought until the bitter end and continued to fight from the grave.

Haruto was  _ livid _ .

A hum filled the quiet between the claps of thunder as Haruto's D-gazer vibrated insistently in his pocket. It was the fifth time— _ the sixth _ , he corrected, as the device returned to buzzing after he had ignored it once more. He didn't check to see who it was. It didn't matter, really. Mizael would forgive him for running off eventually. And the last thing he wanted was to face Chris right now. Or any of them, really.

Haruto shivered as the wind blew harshly. Lightning broke the sky, illuminating the mountains in white for a split-second before plunging back into darkness. He blinked as his vision swam from the sudden light.

This was really stupid. Haruto might be pissed but it sure as hell wasn't worth him dying over. His cold legs shook and protested as he stood. Carefully, he navigated the loose stones to where he had thrown his hover board halfway down the hill in a fit of childish temperament. He prayed that the fall hadn't broken the mechanics at all.

✥

Byron sipped his tea and watched through the open door as Chris and Mizael drove off. He sighed. The cup clinked against the saucer as he placed them on table. His mask joined the teacup, metal gleaming dully in the flicker-pulse of the dying kitchen light. Sliding off the chair, he walked out the door and into the rain-soaked night. Standing on the threshold, Byron folded his hands behind his back, looked northwest, and waited.

✥

The last of the Academia soldiers hit the ground, sliding through the mud as he dematerialized into glitch-blue. Galaxy Eyes Photon Dragon screamed her victory, watched by the weary eyes of the tamer who commanded her in the interim. Chris lowered his duel disk, watching as the dragon landed gracefully, lowering her head to rest in Mizael's outstretched hands.

"Is that all of them?" Chris asked. He could see Mizael frown in Photon's glow, eyes flicking across the landscape as he scratched beneath the dragon's maw at her insistence. She grumbled happily.

"So it seems," Jinlong replied, his true form fading into the human guise he so often wore.

"Something's wrong," Mizael said. He drew back from the dragon, turning to look behind them. The area fell dark as Galaxy Eyes Photon Dragon vanished, energy returning to Mizael's… to  _ Kaito's _ deck. His eyes flashed, and the duel disk unwrapped itself from his forearm, evaporating into sparks of light. "That was far too easy.  Those soldiers were inexperienced. Academia wouldn't have sent such pathetic duelists to fight us. To fight  _ me. _ "

For a breath, all fell silent aside from the light patter of rain falling blindly onto the countryside. Then, in the distance, a lone long note rose amid the sounds of the storm; the sound a subtle terror that caused them all to still, hearts plummeting in a horrifying realization.

_ The air raid siren _ .

"It was a decoy," Mizael said slowly, voice laced with disbelief. "Academia, they're—"

"They're at the villa," Chris finished.

He was mounted on the bike faster than he knew he could  move, keys turned and the engine rumbling. He accelerated the moment he felt Mizael's weight behind him. The engine roared as they tore over the hills toward the siren that sounded so similar to the ringing of death bells.

_ Dad. _

Chris' throat tightened, and he urged the bike to go faster.

✥

Haruto was nearly at the villa when the air raid siren began to sing.

He grew dizzy with fear as it swept through his system, every nerve in his body alight with horror. Slamming his back heel onto the accelerator, he braced as the hover board kicked beneath his weight and shot forward, speeding over rocks and valleys.

Stupid, stupid,  _ stupid _ . He was so stupid. He knew that Academia was somewhere out there, and yet he had run out into the night like a petulant child. Haruto was a collection of bad decisions, and now they were coming to call.

_ Stupid, stupid Haruto. _

The villa rose from the darkness in the distance. Lightning flashed, and in the split second of blinding white, Haruto saw the Antique Gear Chaos Giant, looming over the villa like a vengeful, long-forsaken god. Time seemed to halt as slowly, ever so slowly, the Giant turned its single, gleaming red eye and looked directly at Haruto.

His blood froze.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more information and content for this AU, go to o-fkt.tumblr.com  
> For me talking about this AU and lots of wip content, find me on Twitter @tindlefire


	7. Gateway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which goodbyes come to pass._

_He leaned back in his chair, his gaze blank. As expected, Academia hadn't detected the message he hid within the propaganda, congratulating him on the "clever improvisation". He only hoped it had helped, that they had heard. That he_ _had heard, in the very least. Perhaps it would count for something. Perhaps they were already dead by now._

_He doubted it._

_Sighing, he turned as he heard her emerge from her room, leveling his eyes on where he knew she would be._

_"You're still awake? Is something wrong?"_

_"It's nothing. Go back to sleep, Ruri."_

✥

Haruto slammed his foot on the break, throwing out his arms to keep balance as the hover board shuddered to a halt, purring gently beneath his feet. The pitch black night cloaked the Ancient Gear Chaos Giant from view, its single, unblinking eye the only signifier of its position between the flashes of lightning. It was nightmarish, a threat both massive and near-invisible. The Giant watched with an unwavering gaze as Haruto struggled to retrieve his duel disk, numb fingers shaking from the cold. The deafening sound of groaning metal overpowered the thunder, the red glow climbing higher into the sky as the Giant straightened. Haruto held his breath, listening; a creak, a moment of silence. Then, a crash, the shuddering sound of the earth quaking as the ground heaved and the Giant took a step forward. Vibrations shook Haruto, his disk slipping from his grip as the hover board shook beneath his feet. He lunged, catching the disk before it hit the ground. Slipping the disk onto his arm, he shuddered at the feeling of frigid metal against his already cool skin. A soft beep emitted from the device as the disk whirred to life, the cards quickly shuffling and clicking into place.

Lightning cracked through the dark and the ground trembled. Haruto grimaced at the cacophony of sound, feeling the tell-tale throb of an oncoming headache playing at his temples. Shoving his wet bangs away from his eyes, he pulled his goggles on. A green haze washed over the world as the night vision function set in, the Giant a massive effigy of haze and thermal optics. Haruto felt his breath choke in his throat as he took in the sheer size of the monster approaching him. Adrenaline flooded his mind, threatening to drown any rational thought in pure, primal instinct.

 _Run_ , it said, _run now._

But Haruto had enough of running away. There was no outrunning this, not this time. He took a deep, shuddering breath, steeled his nerve, and pushed his foot onto the accelerator. Haruto's instincts screamed at him as he sped down the rock-ridden hill toward the Giant, the sparse flora pulling in the wake of his passing.

Judging by the Giant's unhindered approach, Haruto was inclined to assume the monster was rogue, without a duelist commanding it. A rogue monster was a rare occasion; it meant the monster's operator was dead without having concluded a duel, leaving the duel disk to continue running without control. It was born from a glitch in the system, a byproduct of manifesting physical monsters with trace personalities, that they would begin acting on their own accord without prompt if left be. Haruto suspected it had something to do with the unexplained nature of Duel Monsters.

Some would say it was magic, but Haruto, born to a family of scientists, pinned it as a completely unexplored field of research.

The Giant's heavy steps rumbled through the countryside as Haruto sped toward it. He needed to find the malfunctioning disk and shut it down before the Giant ended up destroying the entire area. The monster stilled and watched him as he drew near, unwavering eye glowing high above him like a spotlight. His heart leapt to his throat as the Giant raised a foot; thousands of pounds of solid metal loomed above his head, a death sentence as finalizing as an executioner's axe.

 _Now or never_ , he thought.

The engine of the hover board blazed as Haruto slammed his heel into the accelerator. He feinted to the side, gripping the edge of the board as he leaned into a steep turn that left him mere inches from the ground. Wind rushed past him as he shifted his weight once more, aiming for the gap between the Giant's feet. Haruto could feel the moment the Giant's foot dropped, an intense downward pressure threatening to crush him beneath its weight. He leaned forward, blood pounding in his ears, urging the board to carry him faster, forwards.

_Almost there, come on, come on..._

Metal slammed into the ground beside Haruto, mud and soil spattering his body as he sped past the Giant's heel and toward the villa. Sweet relief washed over him as he flew on. He lifted one shaking hand to wipe the mud from the lens of his goggles. The land resumed its shaking as the Giant turned to pursue him, moving in long, methodical strides. Haruto pressed forward, intent on using his greater speed to his advantage.

A burst of light erupted from the villa, flame and smoke engulfing the front door as the walls crumbled beneath the force of the explosion. A body flew from the building, hitting the ground with a sickening crunch. Haruto recognized the half-burnt shape of an Obelisk Force mask. The soldier's disk was deactivated, he noted, lightless and quiet. This wasn't the one he was looking for. He continued forth, speeding past the body toward the burning villa. The night vision function automatically clicked off as he approached, the green haze dissolving into the white-gold blaze of the flames.

Haruto's foot remained steady on the accelerator as he approached the villa. This was incredibly stupid. On a list of impulsive things he's done, this was _probably_ at the top. Probably.

He took a deep breath and held it, bracing himself as he aimed for the burning doorway.

The world exploded into violent light, heat engulfing him as he burst through the kitchen. The hover hoard screeched as he braked violently, careening into the dark hallway where the fire had yet to spread. Haruto shouted as he jolted to the side and fell, hitting the ground hard, momentum carrying him skidding down the hall. Pain blossomed through his shoulders and down his spine as he slammed into the wall, the back of his head leaving a dent in the plaster. Groaning, he held his head and blinked, the ringing in his ears drowning out all sound. He glanced up and saw his hover board embedded in the wall above. He groaned again, reaching to pull his goggles from his sweaty face, eyes watering in the hazy half-light of the hallway. Lying there, he sucked in the smoke-addled air as his mind attempted to reorient itself.

 _Concussion_ , the distant, still-functioning part of his mind provided. Slowly, he sat up, muscles protesting the movement. Nausea rushed to meet him, and he tucked his head between his knees, willing his stomach to calm itself because now was _not_ the time to be sick. A soft hum reached his ears as the ringing in his head receded. Glancing up, he looked around the smoke-choked hall. There, lying on the floor, was the still form of an Obelisk Force soldier, bleeding profusely from a gash that ran the length of her torso. Haruto's hand smacked over his mouth as his nausea returned. Looking around, he noticed deep gashes marring the walls and floors of the hall, dark burns littering the space between despite the fact that the fire had yet to reach here. Standing on unsteady legs, he stumbled to the fallen soldier. The disk on her arm glowed softly, light flickering as it let out an unhealthy whine. Haruto stared at the unsteady light, dimly aware of this being important but struggling to recall what it was he had intended to do. The ground shook violently, snapping Haruto out of his reverie. _The Giant._

Unthinking, Haruto lifted his foot and stomped on the glowing orb in the center of the disk, glass shattering as his heel broke into the center of the shield. The disk sparked and electricity shot through his leg. Hissing, he pulled away sharply, stumbling away from the offending device. Light sparked from the disk once more before fading. In the distance, the rumble of the Giant's footsteps ceased. The night quieted, the crackling of the flames a gentle melody in the calm.

Leaning against the wall, he sucked in a breath. His lungs spasmed as smoke-ridden air filled them, and he coughed harshly. He lifted his arm to cover his mouth and nose, giving the encroaching fire a glare before turning to pull the hoverboard from the wall, plaster crumbling as he yanked it from place.

A bang broke through the silence, the metal doors of the lab shuddering as something hit them from the inside. Swiftly, he deactivated the board, tucking the small cube into his pack before he slowly made his way toward the sound.

The doors slid open at his approach. His feet caught on something and he pitched forward, catching himself on the door frame. Gripping the frame with both hands, he looked down to find the body of a soldier lying across the threshold. His nose wrinkled and he pulled his feet back, looking around the lab. Table and chairs lay tipped. Cold air blew through the broken window, rain soaking the floor where the plant that had been near-death for the past couple months lay trampled, the shattered pottery scattered across the floor. Strewn papers fluttered weakly in the draft, the pages crumpled and torn, marred with dirt and with blood. Something moved in the corner of Haruto's eye and he spun, lifting his disk before him.

"Put that thing down, Haruto. It's just me."

Haruto found himself staring at Byron, who was giving Haruto his customary unimpressed look. Relief blossomed for a moment, only to be crushed ten-fold as Haruto took in the man's appearance. Byron's left arm was braced against the wall, large and deformed, the nebula swirling and colliding in an agitated dance. His mask was gone, human features drawn and pale. Hair hung in front of his eyes, matted and sweat-slicked. Byron coughed, a wet, rattling sound, and Haruto noticed Byron's other arm wrapped tightly around his side, a deep red stain stretching across the off-white of his coat.

"Byron, you're—"

"I'm _fine_ ," Byron choked out between coughs. He took a breath. Blood laced his lips, and he turned to wipe it against his shoulder. "Where are the others?"

"I—I don't know." Haruto stepped forward, hands hovering uncertainly. "Are you...do you…?"

Blood dripped from the fingers of Byron's inhuman arm. The deep wound in the soldier's torso, the burns and scars along the hallway walls and floor. Haruto never knew the extent to which Byron could manipulate his physical form, but apparently the man had a deeper understanding of his own capabilities than he let on.

"Get me that chair. The one that's not broken." Byron lifted his nebulae arm from the wall and pointed to the floor behind Haruto.

He coughed again, and Haruto scrambled to retrieve the intact office chair from where it lay behind a fallen desk, pressing himself to ignore the dead body that lay beside it, He carried the chair to Byron, who gestured for him to place it beside the Gateway control panel.

"What do you plan to do?" Haruto asked, anxiously feeling as though he should be helping somehow.

"Start this thing, hopefully. If the others don't show up soon, I'll at least be able to get you through before I pass out or croak," Byron stated bluntly, his fingers dancing over the Gateway controls. Abruptly he paused, head tilting to glance over his shoulder. "Oh good, there they are."

Haruto turned to look as the lab doors hissed and slid open to reveal Mizael and Chris, worn from battle and battered by the elements but unheeding of that as they stared with unabashed shock. Haruto was sure it made for a pretty picture; Haruto with bruises and stinging burns mottled across his arms and face, Byron with his crooked grin and his crooked arm, hands and body painted in deep red.

Byron lifted a hand and waved.

"Dad..." Chris uttered softly; a quiet dread nestled itself in the single word. He slipped past as Mizael kicked the fallen Academia soldier aside, striding quickly to where Byron sat. "Dad, you're—"

"I'm _fine_ ," Byron repeated. His face grew taut with pain as he shifted. Chris crouched before Byron. He reached out but his hand stilled, fingers curling into his palm as Byron hunched over, breathing harshly.

"You're _not_ fine, you're—" Chris choked on the words, palm pressed to his lips as he looked at Byron in disbelief, tears swelling in his eyes. "We need to get you help, there's got to be a way that..."

Haruto felt his own throat grow tight as the effects of adrenaline and his concussion loosened its grip on him and the reality of the moment fixed itself in his mind. Chris sobbed, ducking his head and looking away.

"Christopher Atticus Arkwright, you look at me." Byron spoke gently, voice deeper than usual. Chris looked up, eyes wide. "I'm dead. For all that living entails, I've _been_ dead, for a long while now. It's simply convenient that this finally cut the last thread."

"That's not true, we can get—"

" _No_. No Chris, you can't. We don't have time. Reinforcements are coming, and I'll be damned if I let my son die trying to save a gone man." Byron grunted as his malformed arm spasmed, knitting itself back into a rough copy of its original shape. He laid his hand on Chris' shoulder, leaning forward in the chair. "Chris, I should have said this much, much earlier. I'm sorry. I'm a shit father, and I've made you and your brother's lives a living hell. I didn't deserve a second chance, but I was given one regardless, for whatever far-fetched reason. I'm not going to waste the last moments of it being fussed over.

"This is what's going to happen: I'm going to operate the Gateway _like we agreed_ —" he stressed as Chris made to interrupt him, "—and you three are going to leave. Go save Kaito. Go figure out a way to stop these crazy sons-of-bitches. _That's_ what I want. I don't care how you stop them, just get it done."

Chris sobbed, a heart-wrenching, broken sound. Byron tutted quietly and pulled Chris into an awkward one-armed  embrace, his right arm still wrapped around his side.

"You'll be fine, Chris," Byron said, cradling Chris' head with his hand. Chris shook, arms tucked tightly around himself so he didn't reach out and cause Byron any pain. "I'm sorry. I love you, son."

Haruto realized that he was looking at the same Byron who had spoken to him on the rooftop. This wasn't the revenge-crazed child who laughed with sadistic glee. This wasn't the undead half-man high on apathy who had hovered about the villa for the past five years. _This_ was Byron Arkwright, the flawed yet oh-so-human man who had remained hidden for longer than Haruto could remember.

Byron gently pried Chris away from him, patting his son gently on the head. Haruto startled as Mizael moved from where he'd been standing behind him, silent enough for Haruto to not even notice his presence. He walked to where Chris crouched and gently pulled him to his feet. Taking Chris' hand in his own, he laced their fingers together, and held out his other hand to Haruto, who slipped took it as he felt the burns on his cheeks sting with the salt from his tears. Chris cried quietly at Mizael's side, face hidden in the palm of his hand as his head hung in despaired acceptance.

Byron swiveled in the chair, returning to face the dashboard. Keys clicked beneath his fingers, and the Gateway rattled as it came to life. Light blossomed in the core of the machine, tendrils spreading like a web and latching onto the metal frame. The light spun and solidified, generating a warm breeze that blew against their faces softly.

" _Mizael_." Jinlong materialized before them, stooped over in his human form, hands folded over the weathered wood of his staff. He looked at Mizael solemnly. "I fear I cannot accompany you to the new Dimension. My soul is bound here, and is unable to leave this reality. My power may assist you upon being summoned, but I myself remain here."

Haruto looked up at Mizael. His eyes were hard, expression impassive. He nodded. "This is goodbye for now then, my friend. Until we meet again."

Jinlong returned the gesture, smiling slightly as he stepped aside.

"Oi, Mizael." Byron spoke up from where he leaned heavily against the dashboard. He grinned. "You take care of them, you hear? And Haruto, don't beat yourself up over any of this. Focus on getting your brother back."

Byron had no words for Chris; everything that needed to be said already was. Haruto nodded and tightened his grip on Mizael's hand. Mizael pulled them forward, and Haurto breathed in as his body was swept away by a tremendous wind.

✥

Jinlong watched as they vanished into a flash of white. He wasn't concerned – Mizael had grown into a fine soul over the past eight hundred years; he would be able to right the path of the others should they be lead astray. Jinlong glanced over his shoulder as he felt the approaching presence of Academia reinforcements. The dying human seemed to notice them too, as he laughed weakly and began to fiddle with the control panel.

"Hey, old man, you can't be hurt by fire, right?" Byron asked, mischief dancing in his eye. An army of voices and footsteps drifted from the far end of the hall.

"I am a ghost. Physical forces don't affect me," he answered.

"Good."

The lab doors opened. Byron thrust his inhuman arm into the dashboard, and with a shout of victory, he pulled a handful of wires from the machine. The Gateway shuddered and screamed. Fire erupted around Jinlong, and he found himself once more marveling the destruction a single human being was capable of as Byron and the Academia soldiers were eaten alive by the heat of the explosion.


	8. Interlude Act I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains animal cruelty, animal testing, and minor gore. Proceed at your own risk.
> 
> The Interlude went from being one document to three separate sections. Otherwise it would have been a 20+ page chapter.

_To his disappointment, Yuuri had been away on a mission the day Tenjo Kaito was brought to Academia. He felt slightly put-out that he had been excluded from such an interesting job, but the potential interest of the retrieval soon proved to pale in comparison to the prisoner himself. Though Yuuri hadn’t yet spoken to Kaito, the man’s appearance was by far enough to pique Yuuri’s curiosity. See, Academia was an imposing presence, an institution that prided itself on its ability to...persuade its visitors. But Kaito looked anything but afraid, returning every glance sent his way with a glare that cast the onlookers beneath him. Tenjo Kaito was a blazing light, threatening to burn any and all that drew too close. The guards who escorted the man were no exception, conveniently having distanced themselves two feet beside and behind Kaito. They didn’t dare touch him, Yuuri noted in amusement._

_Yes, Kaito was interesting. Yuuri found himself wondering if it’d be more amusing to watch his light be snuffed out, or if witnessing as his flames devastated Academia would be the true rapture. It didn’t matter to him, whichever way._

✥

 

_“Tenjo Kaito, I trust you have been informed as to why you were brought here.”_

_Kaito glared at the man before him. Tall, poised, his frame wrapped in a uniform of purple; the color of royalty, of establishment, of rank. Of excess, waste, of ego._

_“My answer is still no,” Kaito replied._

_“Really?” Akaba Leo did not sound surprised. “That is unfortunate - I was hoping a man of science such as yourself would see the value in our endeavors.”_

_“All I can see is years of research contradicting your asinine claims.”_

_Leo Akaba quirked a brow at him, and Kaito sneered as the distinct impression of being looked down upon settled itself on his shoulders. Turning, Akaba lifted a remote from the table beside Kaito’s chair, clicking a button. A holographic screen flickered to life before them, illuminating a model of the four Dimensions, floating eerily in the air._

_“You know as well as I that the reunification of Dimensions is unavoidable; as the Dimensions continue to deteriorate, they will seek stability, and begin to draw toward one another instinctively. However, if we let them remain apart for too long, the separate realities will be far too weakened by that time, and the polarities will be unable to align, resulting in the destruction of all life.” Akaba pressed another button, and the Dimensions overlaid, the hologram becoming a mess of misaligned pieces. The image began to flicker and glitch, the program unable to calculate the alignment. “My proposition is no more asinine than the notion of allowing such destruction to ensue. I seek to unify the Dimensions while they remain stable enough to survive the process. The benefits far outweigh the potential losses. Besides—” Akaba placed the remote back on the table, looking at Kaito, “—whether or not those lives are lost relies solely upon your participation.”_

_“The soul-separating capability of Photon Hand doesn’t prevent death,” Kaito snapped. “A body will die if separated from the soul too long. All that will result in is their souls being trapped eternally without release.”_

_Akaba hummed thoughtfully. “You would know about that, wouldn’t you?”_

_Kaito flinched. Akaba’s lips twitched at the corners; it was the most emotive Kaito had seen the man._

_“I’m not an irrational man, Kaito. You are one of the brightest minds the Dimensions have to offer. I trust that you are capable of working around this minor complication, should you choose to comply.”_

_“Here’s my answer: Fuck off.”_

✥

 

_The Professor was irritated. His countenance was unchanged, but Yuuri could tell by the way his fingers curled around one another slightly tighter than normal. Undoubtedly, it meant that Tenjo Kaito continued to remain unconvinced and unmoved. It was not unusual for the Professor to prefer civility in his persuasion; an effort as admirable as it was ineffectual, in Yuuri’s opinion. Manipulation was akin to flower arranging, an art that requires a delicate but precise touch. To linger too much on the outlying routes meant the eventual threat would wilt before presentation._

_But the Professor knew this, and would act on it in due time. Until then, Yuuri remained content to simply observe, a slight smile creeping across his lips as the computer alerted them that Tenjo Kaito had once more broken free from his temporary holding._

✥

 

_“Your stubbornness is nearly as impressive as your escape attempts.”_ _Akaba Leo—the Professor, as he was called—gave Kaito a look of resigned frustration._

_“Blame it on your unconvincing argument.”_

_“The entirety of existence is at stake, Kaito. I would hope that you’d have the maturity to be logical about something so critical.”_

_“I would hope you’d have the heart to be logical about something so destructive. You are discussing the fate of millions of lives. I’ve seen the consequences.”_

_“You’re referring to the discourse between the Varian and Astral worlds, I presume.”_

_“How the hell do you know anything about that?”_

_“I know plenty, Kaito. I know of the Varian’s influence on your family, of the centuries-long war between the dying Astral and Varian worlds. That situation is precisely the situation I seek to avoid.”_

_“You didn’t answer my question.”_

_“I’m surprised you’re not inclined to prevent this same situation, considering you grew quite close to one of the Varian lords...Mizael was it?" The Professor spoke the name with a false ignorance that told he knew precisely who he was talking about, and precisely what influence it might have over Kaito. "It’s unfortunate that you wouldn’t seek to aid in sparing others from the tragedy through which he and his comrades."_

_“Don’t bring Mizael into this,” Kaito snapped quickly. Too quickly. The Professor looked at Kaito for a long moment, cold eyes observing, calculating. But Kaito was a veteran to this game, and he remained stone-faced, giving the man nothing more to use against him. Leo Akaba exhaled heavily through his nose._

_“So you still will not agree.”_

_“You killed my father - that gives me plenty of reason to regard you as untrustworthy.”_

_“Your unhelpful nature forces me to rely upon an unpleasant ultimatum. You, Tenjo Kaito, will assist in creating the technology we require to begin depopulating the other Dimensions. And if you refuse, your brother Haruto will meet the same fate as your father. If you care for him, I would reconsider your options.”_

_“You bastard, leave Haruto out of this! Don’t you dare lay a finger on him, do you hear me!? Don’t fucking walk away, stay away from Haruto—get your fucking hands OFF OF ME—" Kaito flailed as his arms were rapidly restrained by the guards who had stood silently in the periphery, lifting him off his feet as he thrashed. "AKABA!! AKABA I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU TOUCH HARUTO I WILL—”_

✥

 

_Rumor among the higher ranks said that Tenjo Kaito conceded. Yuuri was nearly disappointed – the Professor’s subtle frustration had been a curiosity; the slow brewing of an internal storm that left Yuuri breathless in anticipation of the Professor’s frustration externalizing itself. But now the Professor was placated, per usual, and Yuuri was left without his primary source of amusement for the past few months. Perhaps Kaito was less unyielding than Yuuri had initially presumed._

_Yuuri decided it was time to see for himself._

✥

 

_Kaito Tenjo looked no less untouchable than he did the first time Yuuri had laid eyes on him. He glared at Yuuri as he stepped into the makeshift laboratory, a sharp-steeled gaze that put the Professor’s own to shame. Yuuri felt his pulse flutter and his lips split into a grin at the look._

_“I’m busy,” Kaito snapped, turning back to the screen he’d been focused on. Holographic pieces moved beneath his fingers, three dimensional models of what Yuuri could only presume would be the technology that Academia would put to good use. Yuuri watched as Kaito expanded an unfinished piece, scrutinizing the framework as he consulted notes pinned to the clipboard he held. With a disapproving sound, Kaito swiped his hand to the side, flicking the virtual component into the screen’s garbage. He glanced at where Yuuri continued to stand, eyes flicking to the manila folder Yuuri held. “Place the file on the chair and leave. I’ll look at it later.”_

_Ignoring the dismissal, Yuuri walked to the seat and placed himself upon it, file held on his lap as he rotated gently from side-to-side. He continued to watch Kaito as he began to re-sketch the component in the program. Kaito spared him a look and proceeded to ignore him completely, eyes flicking between the papers and the screen he drew upon. Opening the file in his lap, Yuuri nimbly withdrew the document, the paper pinched between his fingers stiff, official and – as to be expected – highly classified. Yuuri of course was not supposed to access such files, let alone bring them within the vicintity of prisoners. He cleared his throat and began to read:_

_“Name: Tenjo Kaito; Date of Birth: October 28—”_

_“Is that my personal file?”_

_“You’re a Scorpio? That’s interesting.”_

_“Give me that.”_ _He made to swipe the file from Yuuri, who gracefully slunk under his arm, twirling around. Kaito pursued him, and Yuuri ducked away once more, dancing out of Kaito’s reach, his eyes focused on the paper as he continued._

_“Height: 5’6”; Nationality: Japano-British; Proficiencies: Robotics, cybernetics. Unconfirmed knowledge of quantum and astrophysics; has produced technology encompassing these subjects, possibly with aid. Family: Tenjo “Faker” Satoshi, Dr., Tenjo Harut—" Yuuri blinked as the file was plucked from his grip. Kaito flipped through the file, eyes roving the pages as he walked back to the work station._

_“Accurate?” Yuuri quipped, returning to the abandoned office chair he’d occupied recently. He folded his legs, hands clasped over his knee, satisfied now that he’d gotten the man’s attention. Kaito reshuffled the papers, placing them down on the table. Yuuri’s pleased smirk remained as Kaito scrutinized him as though he were trying to turn Yuuri inside-out, to spill his organs and figure out how he ticked amidst the gore._

_“Who are you?” Kaito said finally. He seemed dissatisfied with whatever conclusion he’d come to._

_Yuuri’s smirk widened. “Me? I’m just a little fey who flitted through the window—don’t mind me.”_

_“Answer me.”_

_And widened._

_“If you insist, my name is Yuuri.”_

_“That’s it?”_

_And faltered._

_“That’s what?” Yuuri asked, confused._

_“No surname?”_

Oh.

_“You’re awfully cold, to press upon a tender topic such as the tragic loss of my family.”_

_Most people would have flushed in embarrassment, ducked their head and and apologized or muttered a lame excuse or two. But Kaito—Kaito narrowed his eyes and hummed as though Yuuri had strung up a pretty lie that he’d let stand until he could be bothered to pry further; as though it were a side project to blow the dust off at a later time. He turned away, leaving Yuuri to observe as he pleased. He spun slowly in the chair and watched Kaito’s computer-lit form as it came and went with every rotation._

_Tenjo Kaito certainly matched Yuuri’s initial impression of him._

How interesting.

✥

 

_“You’ve been rubbing your eyes a lot recently,” Yuuri commented from his usual spot on the office chair that Kaito never used. He watched lazily as Kaito worked through the fourth revision of the carding technology, frustration-fueled readjustments and discarding._

_They’d been testing the technology on rabbits. Yuuri enjoyed viewing the tests when they were conducted; watching as the rabbits shrieking and wide-eyed in fear bled red over the cold steel table. Only chunks of their bodies would vanish into the card, leaving their disembodied legs and ears twitching in the instinctual desire to run and burrow deep underground, into the belly of the earth. Sometimes it was the head, sometimes the stomach, that would vanish. Sometimes it was little pieces, leaving a patchwork of fur and intestines heaving and twisting upon the operating table for moments before they stilled. Once it was the midsection that vanished, leaving two perfectly severed feet lying upon the table. Yuuri had kept one._

_“They’re just dry.” Kaito blinked and squinted at the screen. He scowled and blinked again. Yuuri frowned._

✥

 

_Kaito held still as the doctor shined a light into his eyes, her lips pulled into a thin line._

_“How long did you say this has been going on?” she asked._

_“I’m amazed you managed to get a doctorate while being unable to retain information for five minutes.”_

_Dr. Mala Ophelia straightened and gave him a hard glare. She reminded him of Chris in a way._

_“‘It’s been infrequent. I’d say it started about a week ago, maybe longer. I already said it’s not a big deal. For all your Professor says he wants me to complete the carding technology, you all seem to be bent on distracting me from doing so,’” she recited, mimicking Kaito’s exact voice fluctuation._

_“I take that back—I’m surprised you managed to get a doctorate while asking stupid questions you already know the answer to.”_

_“I was reconfirming your answer, Tenjo. Don’t be cheeky with me.” She marked something down on her clipboard, her pen scraping against the page as she wrote._

_“Mind imparting your diagnosis, doctor?”_

_“Patient is ill-mannered and obnoxious. Aside from this, diagnosis is inconclusive. I’m scheduling an MRI.”_

_“Great.”_

✥

 

_“Due to untreated damage to your visual cortex, you are suffering from a developing case of visual cortical blindness. Unfortunately, the source of the deterioration in the lobe is unknown, and we are unable to treat it properly without the knowledge of the catalyst. We will do our best, but partial to permanent blindness is likely.”_

_He had an idea of the catalyst, but he remained silent._

✥

 

_The rabbit twitched and whined, gore flooding the table as it died. The spasming animal hazed as Kaito’s eyes blurred, white noise cluttering the corners of his vision. He blinked, and the blurring stabilized. The noise remained._

_He was growing used to it._

✥

 

_Dr. Mala Ophelia stopped trying to save his vision, and instead proposed the prospect of an external device to act as a rerouting provider to his brain._

 

✥

 

_With a flash of light, the room fell silent as the rabbit vanished completely, leaving behind nothing but cold steel and the bitter, sickening weight of accomplishment. He blinked. The noise cluttered everything._

 

✥

 

_Kaito grimaced as Leo Akaba congratulated him._

_“I was right in my decision to invest in you. You completed decades of research and development in little under a year. With this, we can begin to enact the salvation. It is all thanks to you, Kaito.”_

_He blinked, and saw no more._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kaito the sassmaster and Yuuri the... weird. Kid. Yeah.  
> For more information and content for this AU, go to o-fkt.tumblr.com  
> For me talking about this AU and lots of wip content, find me on Twitter @tindlefire


	9. Eighteen Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which loss is mourned._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, having to retype every damn chapter on my phone because I don't have internet is truly a labor of love. If you enjoy it, please drop a kudos or comment. Transcribing this literally took me four hours.
> 
> We have entered Part Two: The Synchro Dimension. Which will contain more plot than Arc-Vs synchro arc, I assure you.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter include: mention of attempted suicide, vomit, the plot, casual classism, sad pretty men, and the irrepressible reincarnation of rage that is Shun Kurosaki.

If there’s one thing that eight hundred years had taught Mizael, it was that nothing was permanent. Stability was good as a lie and a disaster in practice. He knew this, had known this, will know this. Crouched in the shadows of an unknown city, his fatigued mind wandered once more to the unending misfortune impregnated throughout his lifetime. Farewells had lost the sharp edge that had once wedged itself between his ribs, replaced by a grey melancholy, bittersweet in its familiarity. The dull sorrow was preferable, really, to the shellshock that came with losing everything—once, twice, again,  _again_ _—_ the sundering agony that had Chris standing with him on a rooftop in Heartland three years ago, surrounded by ruin and death as he did everything he could to talk Mizael out of taking his own life in a desperate plea to make it _stop_.

He’d settled for cutting his hair off instead.

Chris would probably grow to understand the sentiment now, the desire to end it before everything inevitably fell apart again and again. The thought sat ill in Mizael’s mind. He lifted his head—dirt smeared across his cheeks from where he’d pressed his face to his knees—and looked to where Chris lay unconscious, his chest rising and falling in steady breaths. He looked peaceful, granted a brief respite from the sorrow that would claw its way into his heart upon awakening. A piece of Mizael wished Chris would never wake, so he may never have to bear the weight of having lost the last of his family.

Somewhere else, there was Haruto, a distant spark in Mizael’s peripherals, too vague to pinpoint but _there._ They needed to find Haruto. Instead, Mizael remained perched atop of a dumpster, Chris' pack of cigarettes heavy in his hands, feeling light-headed from drawing too much power from a dying source. The Gateway's link had faltered in the last leg of the jump, leaving Mizael to drag them through the momentary nothingness toward a stable reality. Something that would have once been trite now left him numb and exhausted from the effort, his powers waning with each passing day as his connection to the Vast frayed into threads. He didn’t need to look at his Varianite to know the stone shone dull, only a spark flickering in its depths as it struggled to burn. Looking away from Chris, Mizael rested his chin on his knees, curled into himself as he turned the pack of cigarettes over in his hands. He wasn’t entirely sure what possessed him to take it; probably for the same reason why he decided that climbing up on a dumpster was a good idea despite the fact that he couldn’t sit straight without leaning against the wall, vertigo tilting the world on its axis, taking Mizael along with it. Mizael found himself opening the pack, plucking a cigarette from the paper envelope. Unfolding his legs from where they pressed to his chest, he dropped the pack into his lap, the warning label printed across the face of the box going unheeded as he snapped his fingers; a spark jumped to the end of the cigarette, lighting the paper in a  soft ember, a will-o’-the-wisp in the dark of the alley. He took a drag, grimacing as the dry, herbal taste washed over his tongue. It was disgusting; he pulled the cigarette from his lips and exhaled, watching as the pale smoke wafted through the humid air. Another drag, and Mizael could see how it could be consoling, despite knowing that each breath burned his lungs; a mindless action, familiar in its repetitiveness. Like fidgeting with your keys, if fidgeting with your keys came with a shot of nicotine and the bitter taste of self-disappointment.

Below him, Chris groaned. Mizael watched as his… _person_ (whose emotional significance to him Mizael has been vehemently refusing to identify because he has enough problems as it is) promptly rolled over and vomited onto the asphalt, one arm braced beneath him as he held his bangs away from his face. Mizael exhaled, shutting his eyes as he took in the rank of bile and cigarettes as Chris continued to heave dryly. It smelled disgusting, and Mizael found his hazy mind drifting back to that history class from all those years ago, of the plague doctors who carried flowers with them, pressed to their noses as to not smell the rot of despair that followed them with each step. Mizael understood the appeal of the idea now.

The sound of choking faded away, replaced by deep breaths and the sound of Chris digging through his coat pockets. Mizael opened his eyes, watching as Chris patted the fabric of his coat in confusion.

“Looking for this?” Mizael offered, holding up the cigarette pack. Chris stared at him, expression flickering from confusion to annoyance to further confusion. Mizael took a drag from the cigarette between his lips, breaking eye contact as he pulled it from his lips, observing it blandly. He exhaled, full lips parted and curled back over bared teeth, the white smoke winding around his cheekbones and dark eyes. Perhaps this is what it’d be like to breathe fire. The cigarette slipped from his fingers, rolling across the lid of the dumpster to fall on the asphalt below, smoldering gently as it continued to consume itself. Mizael looked at the pack resting in his hand, expression contemplative as he thumbed the worn cardboard tab.

He had every reason to throw them out. It was probably what Chris expected him to do, seeing how Mizael gave him hell for it every time he smoked. But Mizael wasn’t stupid, nor was he cruel. And perhaps it was crueler to continue to let Chris seek comfort in something that could ultimately kill him, but Mizael didn’t have the strength of heart to deny him the comfort, given how pathetic their entire situation persisted to be.

“Here.” Chris startled as Mizael tossed him the pack. He caught it, fingers curling around the box with a gentle uncertainty, his eyes dark and heavy as he looked up at Mizael. “As much as I want to throw that out, I don’t blame you for relying on it. Besides, we really don’t have time to work through your probable withdrawal right now,” Mizael explained.

Chris shoved the pack in his pocket, taking in their surroundings. Mizael had dragged them into an alleyway of the foreign slum they’d landed in; he hadn’t wanted to attract any unnecessary attention, seeing how they both looked like hell and Mizael currently carried no less than three lethal weapons on him.

“Where’s Haruto?” Chris asked, lips pulled into a tight frown. Mizael shook his head.

“I don’t know. He’s _here_ , somewhere. I was about to wake you up. We need to go look for him.”

Mizael slid from his perch, boots slapping the concrete as he landed. He offered Chris a hand. Chris stared, as though he were trying to discern what the purpose of the offering was. Mizael could see the maelstrom brewing behind his eyes, the emotion that would soon rear and threaten to shake Chris apart. He wondered if it was better for Chris to finally break from the emotional stasis that had encased him the day his brothers were reported to be missing. Wondered, because Mizael didn’t know. Despite the wisdom and knowledge his years had granted him, Mizael couldn’t help but feel surprisingly useless much of the time.

Chris shook his head and took Mizael’s hand. Pulling Chris to his feet, Mizael tightened his grip; the pale man looked at him, features drawn and positively spectral in the dim light, Chris’ eyes bruised as sorrow laced through his bones and pulled his features taught.

Haruto was going to have to wait, Mizael decided. Hopefully he wouldn’t get into trouble in the meanwhile.

“Christopher…” Mizael faltered, unsure of what to say. “Are you…”

 

✥

 

“...are you going to be alright?”

Vulnerability strung itself between Chris’ ribs as Mizael’s eyes met his own, his hand still tight in the other man’s calloused grip. The question hung heavily between them, and Chris found himself forced to acknowledge the despair that ravaged his mind from his waking moment. He honestly hoped it’d be easier, the loss of his family an old ache that he already knew how to cope with. But this time, it was different. This time, the loss was so tangibly finite that it left him without anything to hold onto. There wasn’t the hope buried beneath the loss that existed last time. There was no way to once more regain what he’d lost. His family was dead; Michael and Thomas lost to Academia in the first wave, and his father now left among the burning carnage as they fled. It didn’t matter how capable he was, how much he’d tried to fix everything. It was all gone, now. Chris opened his mouth to say something, to say _anything_ so that Mizael would stop looking at him like that, but the words caught in his throat, choking him as he tried to speak. His vision blurred and stung and suddenly Mizael was _there_ , arms wrapped around Chris as his knees gave out. Mizael carefully lowered them to the ground, cradling Chris as he buried his face into the crook of Mizael’s shoulder and sobbed. Faintly, beneath the force of his breaking heart, he could hear Mizael murmur soft, gentle words; could feel the brush of smoke-kissed lips against his temple. In the unfamiliar dark of the alley Mizael held him as he drowned in his despair. And as the minutes passed, Chris felt something in his chest; a furnace in his heart, where a small ember blossomed, coals flickering as anger seeded itself between the cracks. The flame was small, and it shuddered in his melancholy, but it was there.

And it would grow.

 

✥

 

Haruto’s first waking thought was that he was lying on something hard and distinctly uncomfortable. He rolled over and groaned, the last vestiges of sleep shaken off by the dull pain throbbing through his back. Peeling open his eyes, he was greeted by the sight of a distant strip of night sky, framed by the looming walls of the alley he lay in. Gingerly, he picked himself up from the ground, adjusting to sit against a wall as he took in his surroundings. There was something unsettling about the back alley; a few moments passed before Haruto realized that it was incredibly _clean_ . Despite its mandatory urban grunge, the alley contained no litter or dirt, even, as though its dinginess was an aesthetic choice instead of being a sign of legitimate use or distress. Bracing himself against the wall, Haruto stood, frowning at the smooth metal beneath his hand. The feeling of _wrongness_ continued to flutter in his stomach. Was he dreaming, or…?

Habitually, he brushed at his coat, blinking in surprise as dirt flaked from the fabric, crumbling beneath his fingers. Looking down, he found dried mud plastered to his clothing and skin. _How on earth had he gotten so—_

 _The storm._ Haruto inhaled sharply as the memories from the past day flooded through his mind. _Potatoes. The Giant. Propaganda. Disassembling microwaves. Arguing with Chris, running away, Academia, the_ Giant _, a soft cool light as they stepped through the Gateway… Blood, fire. Byron._

Haruto felt tears prick the corners of his eyes. The burns across his cheekbones stung as he rubbed his eyes angrily, objecting to the friction and the dirt. He hissed and licked his chapped lips, tasting ash and blood and salt on his tongue. The dirt caked across his clothes chipped and fell away as he smacked at the fabric, fingertips scrubbing at the remaining blemishes. He kicked his boots against the wall a couple times, oddly satisfied at the sight of the dust staining the pristine metal. To his left, city light glowed in the distance, the urban efflorescence slinking between the tall shadows cast by the alley walls. Haruto gave the dark lane a final look, his mind listing priorities as he walked toward the inner-city spark.

__1\. Find out where the hell I am._ _

_2\. Find Chris and Mizael._

_3\. Find a shower._

_4\. Cry, probably. Definitely._

It was as solid a plan as he was going to come up with, in his current state. His every movement was weighted by fatigue. Haruto felt as though he’d been awake for weeks, though it had probably only been around eighteen hours. Eighteen hours; that’s all it took for all remaining stability in Haruto’s life to come crumbling down around him. It was a selfish, naive notion, to think that they would be able to avoid the war for much longer. He’d hated it, hiding away in the mountains while nobler people fell in their efforts to reclaim their home. But now, with his shaking limbs a patchwork of dirt and burns and bruises mottled pink and black, he realized how good he’d had it. As unfair as his fortune had been, he was woefully unprepared for what he’s now in the midst of, ignorant in more ways than he acknowledged. Academia weren’t like the Varians. They weren’t clean, they weren’t noble. They were _human_ , and far more cruel for it. But unlike the lesions he’d sustained on his psyche from the Varian’s efforts—from Vector’s efforts, really—these wounds that painted Haruto’s skin would heal beneath his gaze. They would leave the same scars, but these would not fester. His fingers curled into fists, a new determination lighting in his chest as he stepped out of the shadows. Haruto squinted, his eyes watering as they adjusted to the blinding brightness. Blinking the moisture away, he felt his breath catch in his throat as he took in the boulevard.

_This…is definitely not Academia._

Tall, sleep buildings surrounded him, clean and shimmering in the city light. It was expensive to the eye. As advanced as Heartland had been in its golden age, the city had maintained a level of humility, brick houses sidled between the color and metal, traditional structures, old pieces of what used to be Domino. Here, neither wood nor brick was to be seen. Elegant structures of glass, metal, and crystal gleamed and practically oozed wealth. Even the plants that lined the boulevard seemed as though they should have a triple-digit price tag hidden among their leaves. It was posh, obscenely so; it left Haruto with the blatant realization that he couldn’t possibly look more out of place if he tried.

 _Just my luck_. Catching his reflection in a window, he scrutinized his appearance. With the dirt and the blood, he certainly looked like someone who had just come out of a war-zone, or in the least an extremely horrific car crash. Perhaps his pitiful state alone would be enough to convince someone to point to a hospital, or the police, and he would be saved from having to answer any questions that might arise from his outlandish appearance. From behind him erupted a shrill shriek, crushing any hopes he maintained. He spun to find a couple staring at him; he grimaced as he took in their expressions of horror and fear.

“Oh my god, it’s a Commons criminal!” The woman clutched her companion’s arm tightly, the man standing slightly in front of her in an effort to seem brave as his finery-clad knees shook. Haruto watched the scene, dumbfounded, caught between being severely offended and laughing hysterically at how ridiculous these people looked.

_Really, what ever happened to empathy?_

“Wait no, I’m not dangerous, I need help—” He started explaining in vain, as his words were quickly cut off.

“Quick, someone alert Security!” The man shouted, glaring at Haruto as though he expected him to point a gun in their direction at any second.

“I said I’m not—!” Haruto paused as he heard a mechanic whir, and he glanced up to see cameras emerging from the linings of the buildings, turning to face him as they came online. Cursing, he ducked his head and pulled his goggles to cover his eyes. He ran back into the alleyway, where darkness fell over him as he wove through the narrow lanes. Sirens wailed in the distance, and his frantic pace slowed as he tried to catch his breath. There was no was he’d be able to outrun them on foot.

Haruto breathed a sigh of relief as the hover board unfolded from its cube, a smooth sequence of whirs and clicks. With the abuse it had taken earlier, he was worried the device wouldn’t function properly, but it seemed alright aside from a few scratches and a dire need for a new paint job. Alighting the board, Haruto sped through the alley network, working his way through the dark as he looked for a place to hide away. He slipped around the corner, braking quickly as pale green light flickered down the dim pass. A motorcycle sped around the turn, the sirens and flashing lights official-looking enough to have Haruto flying the other direction. He burst from the alleys onto a street, the wheels of the motorcycle squealing against the asphalt behind him as Security continued to pursue him. He glanced back, taking in his pursuer in the light of the city. The man looked like some type of cop, riding what was possibly the strangest vehicle Haruto had seen. And that was _including_ Ryouga’s bike. An amplified voice erupted from the Security bike, loud and abrasive.

“By order of the Security Bureau, you are violating the law! Resist and there will be consequences!”

“I didn’t even _do_ anything!” Haruto shouted back, glaring over his shoulder at the Security officer. In the distance, the sound of helicopter blades could be heard over the siren’s wail. Easing his foot on the brake, he made to slow to a halt. The officer however did not, and Haruto had to quickly swerve and accelerate to avoid the Security bike crashing into him from behind. “What the—!? I thought you said you—”

“You will be apprehended by regular protocol. Prepare your duel disk!”

“My… _what!?"_ Haruto glanced at the Security officer in disbelief as an automated voice spoke from the officer’s motorcycle.

_“Duel Mode - Autopilot standby.”_

“Are you _insane_!? You can’t duel while driving, you’re going to crash and kill yourself!! Aren't you a cop!?” Leaning as the hoverboard picked up speed, Haruto turned a corner sharply, sneering as the Security officer stayed hot on his tail. “I told you, I’m not going to—”

“Okay, get ready everyone, we’re going live!” a voice announced from above. Startled, Haruto looked up to see a woman and a camera man leaning out of the open door of the helicopter he’d been hearing earlier. The camera focused on him, and the woman—a reporter—winked.

It was in this moment that Haruto realized that everyone in this city was certifiably insane.

✥

 

Mizael stroked his fingers through white hair. They had yet to separate, though Chris’ sobs had long since ceased, his breathing ragged. Mizael’s fingers stilled as Chris shuddered, pulling away to sit back. Reaching over, Mizael cupped Chris’ face between his hands, gently wiping the tears from worn features. Mizael brushed the hair from his cheeks, fingers threading through pale strands as he pulled them from paler skin.

“It doesn’t get any easier, does it?” Chris asked eventually, his voice guttural and rough from wear. The question caught Mizael off guard, and he stilled for a moment before he pressed his thumbs to the hollows of Chris’ cheekbones and pressed their lips together.

It didn’t get easier. It never got easier, but he didn’t have the heart to tell Chris that. The loss would leave wounds, the heart broken, messily stitched and poorly healed. This Mizael knew, for his own heart was so tacked and scarred and threaded that it had turned into something ugly, a patchwork imitation of a lost whole. But Chris would never suffer so. To experience such loss took more than the single human lifetime Chris possessed.

Chris responded to the kiss immediately, biting at Mizael’s lips, teasing the flesh as his chapped lips pulled at Mizael’s own. It was a rough, desperate kiss, teeth grazing teeth, grazing lips, grazing tongues. Hot and sharp, it ended as soon as it began, and Chris wrapped his arms around Mizael’s waist, nosing at his neck as he pulled them flush. 

“Christopher.” Mizael tugged at Chris’ hair, trying to get his attention. Chris grunted, pulling away to look at Mizael. “We need to find Haruto.”

Mizael pulled away from Chris' grasp, readjusting his weapons as he stood. He picked up his _guan dao_ from where he'd leaned it against the wall. He watched as Chris took a moment to reorient himself, lips pressed into a thin line as he nodded and picked himself off the ground. Ducking out of the alley, Mizael looked up to see a sparkling city, perched high above the sea of dilapidation they stood in. Behind him, he heard Chris suck in a breath at the sight.

“What the hell…” Chris mumbled.

“Capitalism at it’s finest, I suppose,” he offered in response. A breeze blew through the street, a can bumping against Mizael’s foot as it rolled past. Mizael reached a hand out and plucked a fluttering newspaper from the wind, peering at the crumpled tabloid. A black and white picture of a man greeted him from the midst of tiny black letters. He turned the page over, checking for mention of a location or date.

“Wait, let me…” Mizael glanced at Chris, who gently took the paper from him, staring at the picture of the man in confused disbelief. His eyes flicked across the page as he read. “ _The study was presented by the acclaimed quantum engineer Isamu Takeru, who was deeply involved with the project for years before—_ ”

Mizael sighed heavily. “Christopher, I know it’s interesting but now’s not the time to—”

“No.” Chris interrupted, his mouth pressed into a thin line as he scrutinized the page. He looked at Mizael, eyes alight with certainty. “Mizael, I _know_ this man.”

 

✥

 

The screen of the old TV flickered as Shun absently thumbed through the channels, bursts of color and sound flipping past at a steady, quick rate. It had been…years, really, since he was last faced with the opportunity to watch television for leisure; he wasn’t entirely sure what to even look for, each channel equally as irritating in either its superficiality or its ignorance. It made him wonder how he used to find television to be an intriguing pastime, how he used to lose that extra hour or two of sleep just to catch the new episode of whatever series he’d been following. Now he lacked the patience for any of it, pausing on a channel for only a few moments before flipping to the next.

But it was a good way to drown out Gallager, who was trying to persuade Shun for the third time in two days. The man had been hell-bent on getting him to enter a contracted partnership with the Underground Duel League, despite Shun’s continual refusals. Shun wondered why an illegal establishment would have something so binding as contracts; it didn’t seem very viable, seeing as their entire operation ran the consistent risk of being shut down at any given moment. There was either something that Gallager wasn’t mentioning, or the Underground had an extensive network of fallbacks and bribed officials. It didn’t matter to Shun either way; he was only here for the purpose of finding capable duelists until one of Akaba’s Lancers inevitably showed up.

“I already told you, I’m not interested in a contract.” He cut the man off, the TV settling on an arbitrary news channel as he glared at his temporary manager.

“Come on kid, think about it. This week’s been a winning streak we haven’t seen in a long time. You’ve already got popularity, a _following_. All it takes is a little time and publicity and soon enough you’ll be the next Jack Atlas.”

“I don’t have that kind of time. I’ll stay as long as I stay, and that’s it.”

An eruption of sound drew his attention back to the television screen, where a pre-recorded voice announced that a high-speed pursuit duel was underway. The program shifted to live footage, where the ever-peppy Melissa Claire declared the escapee to be a Commons citizen charged with trespassing and verbal assault. Shun wondered if the woman ever slept. These pursuit duels weren’t uncommon, and she had been at the scene of every last one of them; this had been the third televised since Shun had arrived in the Synchro Dimension, not five days ago.

“What, are you some criminal on the run then? Can’t stay in one place for too long? We’ve got connections, we can fix that,” Gallager pressed, but Shun was deaf to his words, attention solely on the television screen as the news camera zoomed in on the purported criminal, the image fuzzy as the lens adjusted.

 _“We’re coming up to Duel Lane E-5, and still no progress! I’m not sure if we’re going to get a duel out of this, or how the Duel Chaser is going to handle the situation, seeing as the escapee refuses to duel! Pretty unheard of, huh?”_ Melissa Claire quipped, the footage on screen becoming clear as the camera steadied. A boy, seemingly about Shun’s age; familiarly battle worn in a way Shun never expected to see here, his eyes concealed by a pair of goggles, pale blue hair flying behind him as he tore down the highway on what looked like a hoverboard. Shun frowned, leaning forward to get a closer look at the screen. He recognized this guy; brows furrowed, he scraped through the rust of his oldest memories, trying to place a name to the boy on screen.

“Oi, Kurosaki.”

_Where did he…_

_“–I’m not sure if we’ve encountered this problem before. I haven’t seen a...whatever it is he’s riding before. Certainly not your standard D-Wheel! It’s pretty cool, I wonder if it’s a new model? In any case, I’m sure Security has a plan to  capture the criminal!!”_

“Kurosaki!”

Shun’s eyes widened as he remembered. A boy, standing on a platform high above, his clear voice cutting through the murmurs of anxiety and terror as he assured them that his friends were still fighting, that they needed to have faith that they’d succeed.

Haruto Tenjo.

“I have to go.” Gallager sputtered as Shun stood, hurtling over the couch and bolting for the door to the duel arena, grabbing his coat from the hook as he passed. He shoved his arms into the sleeves as he rounded the corner and took the stairs three at a time, descending into the garage where the D-Wheels were kept. Gallager caught up to him just as he straddled the seat of the D-Wheel he’d been using, his riding suit still tight to his skin beneath the familiar weight of his old duster. Pulling his scarf from where it had been shoved into one of the pockets, he wrapped the fabric around his throat as Gallager approached.

“What do you think you’re–” The engine revved to life, cutting Gallager’s angered retort short.

“I’ll be back!” Shun shouted, ignoring the man’s protests as he accelerated and sped from the garage onto the streets. His glasses were still in the pocket of his coat; he slipped them on, tugging his scarf over his mouth as he sped toward the onramp onto Highway E.

If there was one thing Shun could say about himself, it was that he never left favors unpaid. And it was time that he finally repaid this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more information and content for this AU, go to o-fkt.tumblr.com  
> For me talking about this AU and lots of wip content, find me on Twitter @tindlefire


	10. The City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which a friend is found_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait. This chapter was incredibly difficult to write for some reason. If you liked, please comment! Comments are my life blood ;;  
>  [The ever-so-wonderful Polux drew fan art for this chapter!](https://twitter.com/gemini_polux/status/704409021353164800)

_“So they went after that friend of yours. The Varian. Mizael, is it?”_

_“I heard.”_

_Yuuri slid his Knight across the board, skipping between Kaito’s pieces with ease. He had always been fond of the Knight’s ability to slip through borders._

_“He got away—the entire division that was sent after him? Dead. They were Obelisk Force soldiers, too. The Professor is pissed. Seems a tad convenient, doesn’t it? Like he knew we were coming.”_

_Kaito hummed in response, and Yuuri’s smirk slipped from his lips as Kaito glanced away from his work to move a chess piece, the Rook clacking on the board with a damning finality._

_"Checkmate.”_

 

✥

 

“Stole your father’s work?”

Chris nodded, his fingers tapping at the tablet screen that rested on his lap. Mizael hovered beside him, watching as Chris flipped through pages of information. “Or so we thought. Now I’m wondering if Takeru had actually been testing the interdimensional equipment like he was supposed to.”

“So he accidentally transported himself to an entirely new Dimension.” Mizael looked up at the glimmering city high above them. “How are you even getting connection here? I wouldn’t think they’d provide free wi-fi if people are living in slums like this.”

“This tablet is designed to attach to weak, long-range connections. I built it with the intention of breaking into any stray Academia transmissions, but unfortunately their connections were safeguarded. Lucky for us, that isn’t the case here.”

“First the Action Field destabilizer and now this. When did you even have time to build all of these things?”

“I don’t sleep, remember?” Chris quipped, cracking a grin at Mizael, who frowned at the dark humor; the truth told by the shadows around Chris’ eyes dampened any comedic value the joke held. Chris’ hands stilled, fingers hovering above the screen as his eyes scanned the page. “Contact information...here we go.”

Mizael leaned over to look at the screen as Chris rummaged through the pocket of his pants, awkwardly lifting his hips to pull his phone from its constraint in the fabric. The phone buzzed as it powered on, informing them that the local time was 23:52; Chris breathed a sigh of relief as the battery read 30%. More than enough for a phone call.

“You’re going to call him?” Mizael asked as Chris tapped the number out.

“Despite your belief in the practice, Mizael, showing up unannounced is generally considered to be rude.”

Mizael shoved at Chris’ shoulder with his knee, and Chris smirked, the dial tone droning in his ear. The ringing cut out, and a robotic voice spoke, informing him that _Isamu Takeru is unavailable at the moment, please leave a message after the beep._ Clicking his tongue, Chris ended the call and redialed the number.

“Isn’t it also considered rude to wake someone up in the middle of the night by incessantly calling them?” Mizael chided lightly.

“It’s not that late. Besides, seeing as this is an emergency, I feel as though it’s excusable enough—” Chris’ words were cut short as a tired voice spoke in his ear, clipped words that did little to mask the man’s irritation.

_“Isamu Takeru speaking. What can I help you with at this ungodly hour?”_

“Professor Takeru? This is Christopher Arkwright.”

The line fell silent. Chris must have looked as concerned as he felt, as Mizael quirked a brow at him. He shook his head in response, lips pursed as he check to see if Takeru had dropped the call.The call time ticked steadily, and Chris returned the phone to his ear.

“Professor?”

 _“I’m not a professor here, Chris,”_ Takeru said finally. _“And here I thought I was answering the phone for one of those god damned telemarketers. Give me a second, I need more coffee before I can begin to wonder how you’re even here. Christ, it’s been what, thirteen years? You… where are you, anyway?”_

“I don’t know, we’re in some rundown neighborhood. Hang on—Mizael, could you go look for a street sign?” Mizael nodded, pushing away from the wall to slink toward the street. “There’s not much to go by down here, sorry about that.”

_“Down here? Can you see any cities above?”_

“Yes, actually. You know where we are?”

_“Yes and no. The area you’re in is called Commons. It’s essentially a massive slum, where 99% of the residents of the City live—impoverished and without any hope of working their way up.”_

Chris blinked as he tried to discern if he had heard correctly.

“99%? _That many?_ ”

_“Unfortunately, yes.”_

“That’s fucked up.”

_“Welcome to the Synchro Dimension, Chris. Fucked up is the name of the game here.”_

Through the phone, the sound of coffee being poured could be heard, and Chris found himself wondering when the last time he had non-expired coffee was. He couldn't recall. Nor could he recall what it tasted like, but he suspected it was better than the watery, sour concoction that kept him going back at the villa.

 _“Actually—"_ Takeru continued, _“—I can’t claim that the entire Dimension is this way. I wouldn’t know.”_

“What do you mean by that?”

_“The place we’re in is an isolated city-state, completely disconnected from the rest of Japan; similar to Heartland, if Heartland had imposed a media blackout beyond its borders. No one enters or leaves the City, nor do we receive any information of the world outside the outer walls.”_

“The city? Does it have a name?” Chris glanced up as Mizael slunk back into the alleyway, sitting down beside Chris.

 _“That_ is  _the name. City, capitalized.”_

“We’re between H-520 and H-521,” Mizael mumbled, resting his cheek on Chris shoulder lightly. Chris shifted the phone to his other ear and wrapped an arm around Mizael’s shoulders. Mizael sighed, letting his eyes fall shut.

“Apparently we’re between H-520 and H-521, whatever that means,” Chris reiterated.

 _“Commons is widely undistricted. Some of the older parts have proper naming, but otherwise boundaries and street signs are dictated by the highway routes.”_ The sound of shuffling papers drifted through the speaker as Takeru mumbled to himself. _“H, H H H…Ah right. You’re some ways from here. I’ll come to get you, it might just might take some time.”_

“If you wouldn’t mind, we’d appreciate it deeply.”

 _“Don’t worry about it Chris. It’s the least I can do, seeing as your dad probably thinks I made off with his research out of spite. Always the suspicious one.”_ Chris swallowed thickly as Takeru chuckled. _“Stay there, I’ll be there in an hour or so.”_

“Thank you, really. And Professor… just so you know, we look like hell.” Mizael laughed softly into the fabric of Chris’ coat. “Our departure wasn’t clean, so don’t be startled. I can’t...really explain it well over the phone, but a lot happened in your absence that I’m going to have to tell you about.”

_“Still not a professor, Chris. But I promise I'll try not to scream like a little girl. See you in an hour.”_

Chris pulled the phone from his ear, staring blankly as ‘call ended' flashed across the screen. He shoved the phone into the breast pocket of his coat, sighing heavily.

“So?” Mizael prompted, his voice quiet.

“Takeru’s going to meet us here. He said that we’re in the Synchro Dimension, in some isolationist city-state called ‘The City’.”

“Damn it.”

“What?”

“We’re back to square one. Trying to find some way to reach Kaito with absolutely no resources.” Mizael hissed in frustration.

“Not quite. I have a feeling that those bright lights aren’t just for show,” Chris said, gesturing to the glimmering city-center on its high perch. “There has to be technology that we can access somewhere. Even if we have to build another Gateway, this one hopefully won’t have to be made of scrap parts.  Shit, I’m amazed that thing even _worked._ ”

“How long before that guy gets here?”

“An hour or so, he said.”

“Good. I’m going to look for Haruto.” Mizael slipped from under Chris’ arm and stood. Chris got up and frowned as he saw Mizael sway slightly. He reached out to steady him.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be running around at breakneck speed when you can’t even stand straight,” Chris said. Mizael shrugged Chris’ grip on his shoulders.

“No, it’s probably not,” Mizael admitted with a heavy sigh. “But it’s an even worse idea to just leave Haruto out there.”

“Mizael, look at me.” Taking Mizael’s chin between his fingers, Chris tilted his head up so Mizael’s gaze met his own, looking into tired, tired eyes. “I know you’re worried. I am too. But Haruto’s not a child, nor is he inept. I’m sure he’ll be able to stay out of trouble for a few hours at least. And I _know_ that he wouldn’t want you running yourself ragged like this. You don’t have the same level of power you once wielded—you have to let yourself rest when you push yourself this far.” Mizael opened his mouth to argue, but Chris shook his head. “No buts, Mizael. Take this hour to rest. Running around the City blindly won’t help us, anyway. If Haruto were nearby, we probably would have run into him by now. Just...please. You look exhausted.”

Mizael’s nose crinkled in annoyance, but he pulled away and turned on his heel, unceremoniously plopping down where he’d been sitting moments ago. Chris blinked as Mizael reached out, beckoning with a downward curl of his fingers.

“If you’re going to make me wait, then make yourself useful and be my pillow.”

Chris laughed shortly at Mizael’s irritable tone, and sat beside him, resting his cheek atop Mizael’s head as the other man curled into his side, fingers gently clutching the fabric of Chris’ coat.

 

✥

 

Haruto blinked to clear his vision as it blurred, the passing lights of the highway barriers melting into one hazy stream. There was no way he’d be able to keep this up. Fatigue pulled at his limbs, sinking deep through his flesh into his bones even as adrenaline kept him aware.

The helicopter continued to fly beside him, tracking their path as they wove through the highway network. The reporter was still enthusiastically relaying how absolutely _nothing_ was happening, but Haruto elected to ignore her and the camera in favor of figuring out how to shake his pursuers. He was nearly tempted to just vault the side of the highway and vanish into the slums below, but his hover board was just that; meant for hovering, not flying. That kind of attempt would just be the death of him. For what was not the first time, Haruto tried braking, and was forced to dodge and accelerate to avoid being hit by the Duel Chaser who pursued him. He took the next turn sharply, and Haruto’s heart skipped as his knees buckled beneath him. Flailing, he shakily regained his balance, white noise ringing in his ears as his vision swam. Shaking his head, he tried to focus, his thoughts bleary as the last vestiges of adrenaline were scattered by the pain that throbbed in his back with every breath he took.

_Well, this is it. I’m going to pass out and be crushed beneath the wheels of some nut job Security officer who is hell bent on a promotion._

As the hoverboard wobbled beneath him, Haruto couldn’t help but marvel at how anticlimactic of a death this was. Through the white noise, he heard a shout, distant and unfamiliar. The world shuddered, and with a gasp Haruto pitched sideways, the black asphalt rushing to meet him; his eyes screwed shut and he prepared for the split-second impact of the road tearing into his skin.

The pain never came. He heard the shout  again, breaking through the white noise that clouded his hearing.

“Tenjo!”

Haruto’s mind snapped back to clarity as he felt himself fall against something firm, a strong arm wrapping around his waist. His eyes flew open, and he found himself braced against the shoulder of a young man, precariously balanced with his feet still on the hoverboard, his hip pressed to the side of the stranger’s D-Wheel.

“Get on!” the stranger shouted above the wind, his face concealed by the scarf he had pulled over his mouth and nose. Haruto gripped the man’s shoulders and jumped, heart rate spiking as his feet left the hoverboard. The stranger veered the D-Wheel toward him, and Haruto successfully mounted the bike behind him. Haruto glanced back to see his hoverboard skid out of control and pitch itself over the side of the highway, falling into the slums far below.

_At least I'm not dead, thanks to…_

“Who are you?” Haruto leaned over the stranger’s shoulder, speaking into his ear.

“My name is Kurosaki Shun. I’m from the Resistance.” Shun spoke lowly, head turned toward Haruto to prevent the Duel Chaser or the reporter from hearing him. “I’m here to help you. Just hang on.”

 _The Resistance._ Either the gods had finally decided to take pity on Haruto, or he’s still lying on the dark alley floor, dreaming. The Resistance was a minor faction these days, their ranks having long been thinned by the unyielding onslaught of Academia. Some said that the Resistance had been completely wiped out already, that the rumors of remaining members were just that. Either way, Haruto had grown to not expect to ever encounter a Resistance soldier in Heartland City, let alone to meet one in an _entirely different Dimension_.

The Gateway had worked; Haruto felt it at his core, a distinct _differentness._ It was in the ground, in the people, in the greenlight haze of a foreign summon as the Duel Chaser called upon his monsters. But Shun was something familiar, like an old memory, with his worn coat and the blood-red scarf encircling his throat. Haruto’s ears continued to ring as the Duel Chaser spoke through his turn, light flashing in the corners of his eyes as monsters were summoned and cards placed. Haruto felt Shun’s shoulder blades shift as he took his turn, drawing a card with the confidence of a Duelist who had seen conflict. Haruto found his gaze drawn to a split seam along the arm of Shun’s coat, and he watched as a stray thread fluttered rapidly in the wind. He was only vaguely aware of the duel as it progressed, of the vibrations in Shun’s chest as he spoke with clarity, with sureness, with the anger that every Heartland native carried in their chests; so different than the calming hush-tone Shun had introduced himself in.

 _He has a nice voice_ , Haruto thought dazedly, cheek falling to rest on the worn plum fabric of Shun’s shoulder as the battle raged around them. It was his last thought before he slipped into a deep slumber; whether it was the hum of the bike beneath them or the vibration of Shun’s voice pressed against Haruto’s chest that lulled him to sleep, he wouldn’t know.

 

✥

 

Chris opened his eyes as the sound of an engine. He hadn’t been aware that he’d ever closed them. Mizael shifted beside him, digging his elbow into Chris’ ribs to get him to move his weight off.

“Rude,” Chris muttered, shaking sleep off as he stood and peered out of the alley. A sleek black car glided through the road cautiously, pulling to a stop as Chris stepped out with Mizael close behind. The engine cut out, the door to the driver’s side clicking open as the vehicle's sole tenant stepped out. Isamu Takeru looked not much different than Chris remembered; a short man, bespectacled, his hair—a bit greyer, now—still pulled back low on his neck like he always used to wear it. Takeru, for his part, wore an expression of appropriate bewilderment as he took in Chris and his unknown companion. The car door was left slightly ajar as Takeru quickly made his way toward them, stopping a few steps away to adjust his glasses and scrutinize Chris’ face thoroughly.

“Impossible. It really is you,” Takeru said finally. “I’d recognize that hair anywhere. You weren’t kidding about looking like hell.”

“Like I said, our departure wasn’t pretty,” Chris offered, smiling at Takeru’s trademark bluntness.

“You look like you stepped out of a war-zone.”

“That statement far more accurate than you know.”

Takeru frowned at that, crumpled brows and downturned lips highlighting the deep lines that hadn’t been there thirteen years ago.

“And who is...” Takeru’s words faded off as he turned to look at Mizael, gaping as though he had just been struck. Chris wasn’t surprised; he was aware of what it was like to be suddenly faced with the ferocious beauty and subtle air of danger that was Mizael. It was enticing, inviting like a drug and just as threatening. Chris himself had been pulled into Mizael’s gravity in mere moments. Knowing this didn’t stop his jaw from clenching.

“This is Mizael. My partner,” he replied, forcing himself to keep the acid from his tone as he sternly reminded that Takeru was a _friend_ and was the only damn chance they had at finding an friendly territory in what was an incredibly skewed society.

“Mizael? It is a pleasure to meet you,” Takeru said, offering his hand.

“A pleasure,” Mizael echoed, shaking Takeru’s hand. He released it, and Takeru looked at the dirt on his hand, rubbing his fingers together thoughtfully. He stepped back, giving the two a thorough once-over.

“A  war, you said? Against who?” Takeru asked.

“Academia,” Mizael said from Chris’ side. “An organization hailing from the Fusion Dimension. They invaded our Dimension three years ago. Heartland City was destroyed in the first wave.”

“Academia…” Takeru’s frown deepened.

“I’m sorry, I know this must seem suspicious and difficult to believe.” Chris said, but Takeru waved him off.

“I believe you, Chris. You always were an honest kid, and Academia is a name I’ve _certainly_ heard of before. Besides, you look terrible; I’d have to either be paranoid or heartless to not believe you.” Takeru’s eyes widened, and he looked at Chris with deep concern. “Chris, your family, they’re…?”

“They’re—” Chris swallowed hard. “They’re gone. My father he...was injured, and stayed behind so we could get here. Professor, I know this is a lot for me to ask as someone you only briefly knew—”

Takeru clapped a hand down on Chris’ shoulder, his grip firm.

“Chris, I’m more than happy to help you. There is no need to ask me twice. But I’ll need you to tell me everything that’s happened in my time lost in this Dimension. Because from what it seems, there’s more that I missed than I’d ever think to expect.” He removed his hand and glanced around the street. “For now, let’s get moving. You both look beyond exhausted, and standing around in Commons at night is just an invitation to get mugged.”

Takeru ushered them into the car, Chris in the passenger seat as Mizael sprawled in the back seat, slumped against the window as he stared out the window. The car started with a purr, and they drove down the street at a significantly faster pace than Takeru had approached with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more information and content for this AU, go to o-fkt.tumblr.com  
> For me talking about this AU and lots of wip content, find me on Twitter @tindlefire


	11. Stone Lotus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which they remember._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave commentary if you enjoyed the chapter! Feedback is what lets me know how I'm doing in terms of writing~
> 
> Well I finally killed my art block after a month. Thank goodness to, I was worried I had lost my motivation for this story. Hopefully my writing hasn't gotten too rusty in the lull. Notes regarding characterization etc. can be found at the end.

Mizael gazed through the car window impassively as they rose from the dark streets of Commons and into the blinding lights of the highway above. From where he lay sprawled across the back seat, he could hear Chris and Takeru talking quietly in the front, Chris’ tone solemn as he reiterated the events of the past seven years. Mizael had tuned out the conversation early on, uninterested in rehearing the tale of the Varian’s desperation-fueled war once more. The entire thing was still fresh burnt in his memory; he didn’t need a narrator to remind him of every action, every _mistake_ they made. He was all too aware of it. Centuries aren’t erased by a mere few years, despite how much effort the other’s had put into leaving the past behind. Chris hadn’t brought up Mizael’s involvement, which he was grateful for. He didn’t enjoy the wariness that his identity provoked; it was useful in battle, but among allies it rarely served him well. He let his eyes fall shut, the lids weighted with fatigue, ignoring the part of his mind that worried because he _shouldn’t_ be this tired, that the jump wasn’t _that_ far, that he should be capable of _so much more than this._ His thoughts began to drift, and he snapped his eyes open, forcing himself to return to alertness despite every part of him wanting to sleep. The car’s clock glowed, the numbers _01:47_ an electric teal in the dim interior. He’d only been awake for twenty-two hours, and yet Mizael felt as though he hadn’t slept in years. It was pathetic, really.

“Well, we’re about there,” Takeru announced in a hollow, cheery tone, loud enough for Mizael to hear. “It’ll be another ten minutes or so—oh, we’re coming up on a checkpoint.” Takeru looked at Chris, and then at Mizael again though the rearview mirror. He paused for a moment, the car slowing as they drew near the Security kiosk. “Okay, both of you do me a favor and don’t say anything.”

More than content to do just that, Mizael let his eyes shut again, settled on pretending to be asleep. The car drew to a halt, and he could hear the gentle whir as Takeru lowered the window.

“Identification, please,” the Security officer said. She sounded nearly as tired as Mizael felt. A shuffle of fabric, then silence, as the Security officer presumably read whatever it was Takeru handed her. “Thank you. Who are your passengers?”

“They’re lab assistants of mine. I was picking them up from observational field work,” Takeru replied smoothly. _The guy’s a good liar._ No wonder why Byron thought he’d run away with their work.

“Field work? In Commons?” The Security officer sounded skeptical, assumedly due to their ragged appearance. Mizael grimaced as a light was shone on his face, instinctively turning away from the invading brightness.

“A behavioral psychology assessment regarding the connection between environment and inherent civility. It was conducted on behalf of the Bureau of Security and required a bit of natural observation. If you wouldn’t mind, I’m sure my employees are eager to change into proper clothing after such a grueling experience.”

“Oh!” There was a blatant shift in the officer's tone at the obvious name drop, suddenly taking on the apologetic sweetness that Mizael had heard enough times from lesser Varians seeking to sidle their way into his good graces for the sake of political favor. “Of course, my apologies for the holdup.”

 _Politics; there’s one thing I definitely don’t miss,_ he thought as the car accelerated, weaving its way into the city streets. Despite that, Mizael found his mind drifting back to the barren plains and harsh skies of the Varian World.  _The Vast_ , he reminded himself, _that’s what it’s called now._ Mizael hadn’t returned to his former home of eight hundred years since the splintered worlds had reunited. He wondered what it looked like, how the Varian people were faring without their leaders. Perhaps someone had stepped up to take their place. There was one star in particular who’d proven himself capable in aiding Mizael on multiple occasions. Polaris, that’s what his name was. Significantly younger than Mizael, but quick-minded and unfaltering under pressure. He would make a capable leader, though he lacked the power the Lords were capable of wielding. Rule by power was a system that was bound to fail, in Mizael’s mind. Power did not equal capability, nor reliability. Vector was a good example of that. _Durbe_ was a good example of that, with how soft-hearted and easily manipulated his comrade became in Nasch’s absence. Mizael was a good example as well; despite the faith the Varian people held in him, Mizael was no leader. He knew this. Hence why he’d immediately ceded the responsibility to Nasch when he’d shown up. It wasn’t a position Mizael had wanted in the first place, but the Varian people had defaulted to following the strongest, and neither Alito nor Gilag had wanted to claim the title from him. Mizael shifted his position against the car door, the discomfort of the window frame digging into his shoulder pulling him away from his thoughts. It was just as well; now wasn’t the time to be mulling over memories of centuries past. They would get him nowhere, aside from reigniting that deep-rooted guilt that told him he shouldn’t be here, he should be back in the Vast, ensuring the Varian people were alright, that the rejoining hadn’t caused uprise, that Eliphas wasn’t being mulish and causing problems for people who had been through too much conflict already. That or he should be dead. But when he tried to imagine leaving now, abandoning Haruto and Kaito and Chris for a higher cause, he couldn’t. The Varians were resilient, continuing on even as their world died around them. They’d manage until one of the Lords was able to return. Mizael opened his eyes to the flashing street lights, gaze drawn up past the highway strobe and to the dark expanse above. The distant sky hung lifeless, the shine of the city choking night of all its light. In all his years, he had never felt further from the stars.

 

✥

 

Chris was mistaken to think the highway was bright. The city was near blinding in comparison, all mirrors and glass and polished metal. It hurt to look at, his eyes accustomed to the muted lights of Heartland’s ruins. A valet approached the car as they pulled into the parking garage of a posh complex, but Takeru waved him off and drove past; undoubtedly in an effort to avoid more questions. He ushered them up a stairwell that seemed to be reserved for staff mostly, the tenants expected to use the elevators. Chris hoped that most of the night staff would be preoccupied; it wouldn't do for them to be seen and mistaken for criminals.

“It’s on the twelfth floor, so it’ll be a climb unfortunately,” Takeru informed them severely. Mizael went ahead, his  _guan do_  bumping against his back as he quickly disappeared to the floors above them as he took the stairs two at a time. Takeru’s eyes widened at the fast pace, and shot Chris a questioning look.

“He grew up on a mountain,” Chris explained as they scaled the floors at a slower pace, pausing every three floors-or-so to allow Takeru to catch his breath. In comparison Chris was surprised to find that fatigue didn’t creep into his legs until they passed the eighth landing. His lifestyle of the past five years was apparently far more physically demanding than he’d realized. Looking up, he saw Mizael leaning on the rail above, chin resting on his forearms as he watched them climb. Their eyes met, and Mizael disappeared with a smirk. _Arrogant still_ , Chris thought in amusement. He hadn’t even realized he’d grown to miss that part of Mizael.

The apartment was spacious; far more room than a single person would ever need. Takeru told them to make themselves at home as he flitted about, turning on lights and the television as he went about picking up wayward items.

“The spare rooms are over there.” Takeru waved his hand behind him as he walked past, a tangle of electronics and cords tucked under his arm. “They’re supplied with clothes and other necessities—obnoxious, really, seeing as it’s all crap I don’t need that takes up precious storage space—so feel free to help yourselves.”

Chris thanked him and offered to help carry stuff, but Takeru shook his head and told him to go take a shower. Wandering down the hall, Chris glanced into one of the guest rooms. Nearly everything was white, from the walls to the bedspread. The furniture itself looked as though it belonged to a set; undoubtedly the apartment came pre-furnished, as it was all far more aesthetically refined than Takeru would ever bother with. The room across the hall had been rearranged, the bed gone and replaced by a table that held a large computer and other devices Chris didn’t recognize. Towers of boxes lined the walls, looking for all the world as though they were about to topple over. Undoubtedly this is what Takeru had meant by “storage space”. Chris turned back to the unused guest room, intent on finally taking a moment to relax.

“Christopher! Come here!” Mizael’s voice rose from the living room, tone urgent. Suppressing the desire to groan, Chris forced himself to ignore the temptation of a proper shower and instead see what it was that concerned Mizael.

“Mizael, can’t it wait for just a moment—” The words died on Chris’ tongue as he saw Mizael perched mere feet from the television, face peaked and stricken as he pointed at the screen. A police chase was playing, the camera blurred as it focused on the escapee.

“It’s Haruto,” Mizael said in a small voice, but Chris had already recognized him, inhaling sharply.

 _“We’re coming up to Duel Lane E-5, and still no progress! I’m not sure if we’re going to get a duel out of this, or how the Duel Chaser is going to handle the situation, seeing as the escapee refuses to duel! Pretty unheard of, huh?”_   the reporter on screen quipped, smiling at the screen as though she and the audience were in on a private joke. They watched wordlessly for a moment before Mizael was on his feet, going for the door and running straight into Takeru.

“What’s going on?” Takeru demanded, adjusting his glasses as he glanced between Chris and Mizael in confusion.

“It’s Haruto. He’s on the news, being chased by police.”

“Haruto? You mean—hold on for a moment before you run out, Mizael. You’re not going to get very far, trust me.” Mizael stilled, hovering impatiently as Takeru slipped past to look at the television. “It’s a rerun from earlier. They do this when they don’t have any interesting news and want to keep the hype of a pursuit duel going.” Takeru shoved his hands into his pockets, scrutinizing the footage as the Haruto on screen shouted something unintelligible to the reporter. “That’s Faker’s younger kid?”

“You knew Dr. Faker?” Chris asked, making room for Mizael on the couch as he abandoned his post near the door.

“Yeah, I did. I thought he was nuts, like your dad did. A goddamn genius though. I don’t suppose you know who that guy is?” Takeru pointed at the screen, where a unknown rider appeared beside Haruto, catching him as he swerved.

“No.” Mizael replied through gritted teeth, jaw clenched in anxiety. They were silent as they watched Haruto awkwardly climb onto the back of the stranger’s bike, his hoverboard pitching over the side of the highway. Chris let out a sigh of relief.

 _“I’m taking over this duel!”_ The stranger announced, Haruto leaning heavily against his back. The camera zoomed in on him, but his face was obscured by a pair of glasses and a bright red scarf covering the lower half of his face.

“Strange getup he has going there,” Takeru noted. But it wasn’t strange, not to Chris. In fact, it looked like something any Heartland remnant would be caught wearing. Chris frowned, the thought settling oddly in his mind. _There was no way this guy is from Heartland._

 _“What on earth is that!? That’s a summon we haven’t seen before! Let’s get a closer look!”_ The reporter’s exasperation was accompanied by a burst of golden light, the familiar portal of an Xyz summon appearing in the midst of the duel.

“Well that explains the rerun,” Takeru stated. “I’m not a duelist, but even I know that’s not a summon I’ve seen since Heartland.”

_Red…but they were wiped out, there’s no way..._

“He’s from the Resistance.” It took a moment for Chris to realize it was Mizael who had spoken, rather than himself having accidentally thought aloud. Mizael’s gaze was locked on the screen, keen eyes memorizing every move made throughout the course of the battle. The Duel Chaser—as it was called, apparently—was defeated quickly in a burst of fire. The smoke cleared, revealing empty asphalt where Haruto and the stranger had been moments before.

_“They disappeared! And the Duel Chaser was defeated!! That’s incredible, this duel was nothing like I’ve ever seen before—”_

“Are you sure?” Chris asked, speaking over the reporter’s overenthusiasm. Mizael nodded, his expression solemn.

“It’s rare to see someone duel with focus that sharp. You don’t see dueling like that off the battlefield. And it lacks the clumsiness that Academia spies tend to have.” Mizael’s scowl deepened, and he sighed. “Haruto should be fine. If someone from the Resistance showed up, it’s definitely not coincidence. He knows who Haruto is. He’ll be fine.” It was obvious to Chris that Mizael was trying to convince himself. Taking Mizael’s hand in his own, he gave it a gentle squeeze.

“We’ll look for him tomorrow then. I think for us both, sleep would probably be the best plan for now.” Chris stood, pulling Mizael up with him. Takeru had wordlessly slipped away sometime during the broadcast, vanishing into one of the many dark rooms. Chris didn’t question Mizael as he followed Chris into the guest room he had staked out earlier, pausing only to close the door behind them.

“Do you want first shower?” Chris asked.

“Go ahead,” Mizael replied, shucking his jacket and draping it on one of the white chairs, grimacing as he did so.

 _Probably worried about the dirt staining the chair_ , Chris thought in amusement, as he ducked into the bathroom and turned the shower on. He peeled his clothes off, abandoning them in a heap as he stepped beneath the hot spray. He’d hoped the water would wash away his concern, but even as the grime and dirt washed away, he found his thoughts remained as heavy as they always were.

 

✥

 

Haruto's return to consciousness was accompanied by the feeling of a soft mattress and a mild headache. His vision was blurry at first, his mind struggling to comprehend what it was he was looking at. A ceiling, he realized. Certainly not one he recognized. Turning his head, he took in the unfamiliar surroundings. The walls were faded, the floral print having long lost its color, marred by water stains and peeling itself from the walls in the corners as though the paper itself sought to escape damage and age. An old armchair sat in the corner, the plastic fabric worn as the walls themselves. Stuffing burst from a hole in one of the cushions. He turned his head the other direction. A small kitchenette was tucked into the corner, white tiles dingy. He was in a motel room, or a small apartment; one that hadn't been changed since the day it was built, it seemed. Voices drifted through a closed door Haruto hadn't noticed before, drawing closer. Shutting his eyes, he pretended to be asleep as light from the hall beyond leaked into the room, the voices clear now.

"If the Underground's as secure and connected as you've been assuring me it is, you shouldn't have anything to worry about."

"...You've got until tomorrow to get him out of here. Got it? You're lucky I'm sticking my neck out for you, don't you forget that."

"Yeah."

The light faded, and Haruto heard the door shut with a click. Soft footsteps, some rustling. The clinking of dishware. Familiar sounds. If Haruto hadn’t already opened his eyes, it’d almost be easy to convince himself that he were back in the villa, that the past day had simply been a horrible nightmare, that his world hadn’t collapsed around him. But time didn’t stall for anyone, and reality wouldn’t soften for a faint heart. That and he’d have to open his eyes eventually. Besides, lying prone with an unknown person in the room was enough to make him uncomfortable.

Haruto let out a groan, turning over slowly to show that he was waking up. He heard someone swear softly, and more clinking of dishware as the stranger fumbled with something. Opening his eyes, he saw someone crouched by the kitchenette, ceramic mug clutched between his hands as though he’d caught it moments before it hit the linoleum and shattered. He straightened as he noticed Haruto looking at him. Haruto recognized the stranger as the same one who had saved him earlier. The tips of his ears were pink, Haruto noted, as the stranger placed the mug on the counter. _He’s embarrassed_ , Haruto realized. _Oh God, what was his name again?_

“You’re awake,” the stranger noted as Haruto sat up.

_He has a nice voice._

Shun. Kurosaki Shun. That’s what his name was.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Probably…” Shun glanced at the microwave clock, “seven hours, give or take.”

 _8:45._ No wonder why he was awake; it was far later in the morning than he was used to sleeping. Haruto took in a deep breath, his chest tight, as though someone were squeezing his torso. Lifting the blankets, Haruto noticed that he wore only his pants, his chest and arms meticulously bandaged. He poked at a plaster on his cheek, the skin feeling taut beneath the adhesive corners.

“Did you do this?” he asked, glancing up to where Shun hovered uncertainly by the kitchenette.

“Yes… I assumed it’d be better to take care of them instead of waiting for you to wake up and run the risk of infection,” Shun explained hastily, glancing away awkwardly as he fiddled with the handle of the mug. Shun’s ears were bright red now. “I’m sorry if I—”

“No, no it’s fine,” Haruto assured him. “Really. Thank you, for helping me.” Haruto offered him a smile; Shun relaxed, his stiff awkwardness lessening with the gesture. He didn’t smile back, instead turning to the mug he was holding and filling it with water from the sink. The lack of reciprocation didn’t bother Haruto – Shun was from the Resistance, after all. It’d be hard for Haruto to smile, even, if he went through what Shun’s probably dealt with. Silence fell, the sound of running water and Shun digging through the cabinets oddly dissonant in the dim room. Haruto let the moment rest for a minute, before discomfort forced him to speak once more.

“Kurosaki, if you don’t mind telling me, where are we exactly?” _If you don’t mind telling me._ Haruto cringed at how passive he sounded. Even within the bounds of social etiquette, Haruto had a right to ask where he was. Hopefully Shun didn’t already think of him as a total pushover.

“This is the Synchro Dimension. We’re in a city, conveniently called The city. Proper noun.” Shun seemed entirely unperturbed by Haruto’s lame question. The microwave beeped, and Shun pulled the mug from it, contents steaming. “Specifically, we’re in one of the boarding rooms of the Underground. It’s a duel arena. I snuck you in past my manager.”

Haruto pushed himself to sit properly, taking in the room for a second time. Beyond the worn armchair was an equally distressed couch. He noticed there were no windows, or overhead light even, the dingy wallpaper illuminated only by a lamp on the bedside table and a small blinking light that belonged to the television. It explained why it was so dim in here.

“I’m guessing they don’t have much in terms of budget,” Haruto quipped. Shun snorted, a faint smile gracing his lips.

“I’d guess the same.” Shun walked over to the bedside, steaming mug held out to Haruto in offering. “Here, it might help you feel better.”

“Oh, thank you.” Haruto took the mug, the tea warming his hands through the ceramic mug. Haruto hadn’t even noticed they were cold. “Um… Academia’s not here, are they?”

“Not yet.”

Haruto frowned. It was good news, really, seeing as they weren’t in much of a position to confront Academia after such a narrow escape. But it also meant that the Gateway hadn’t lead them to where they needed to be. Which, apparently, wasn’t the Synchro Dimension. Whatever that meant. _Four years of work and we’re just back to where we started._ Except this time there were more potential resources and even more standing between them and those resources. His burns ached beneath the bandages.

“Does everyone duel on motorcycles here?” Haruto ventured. Shun hadn’t gotten annoyed with his questioning as of yet, and he needed as many answers as he could get.

“Yes. They’re called D-Wheels. They’re a bit different than a normal bike.”

“Yeah, they are kind of weird looking. I’d assume they have some form of autopilot function, so people don’t crash.”

“Pretty much.”

“And these duels on motorcycles are used to capture criminals?”

“They’re used to entertain people watching the news,” Shun replied, lips thinned into a grimace. Shun’s speech was brusque, Haruto realized, as though it had been a long time since he had last offered more than a few words in conversation. _The Resistance was wiped out after the fifth wave, or so they say. The few members who remained alive were said to have fled, or joined one of the gangs._ But the Resistance wasn’t dead, not quite; it lived on in Shun, in his reticence and his nervousness, stiff shoulders having long forgotten how to relax. Haruto’s heart ached, in that moment, looking at a boy who was probably not even his age but had seen all too much in his years. Haruto’s gaze dropped to the mug, the tea swirling slowly in the mug as he rocked it gently in his hands.

“Hey, Kurosaki…?”

“Yeah?”

 _How did you end up here, even though you’re supposed to be dead? What keeps you going? Why haven’t you given up? I would have, if I were you._ But that wasn’t something Haruto could just ask outright, regardless of how much he wanted to. He watched the steam rise from the mug, figuring out how to word his question. He glanced up and was startled to meet Shun’s gaze.

“Um...how do you know me? Who I am, I mean.” It wasn’t the question he had wanted to ask, but it was on his mind, so it would have to do for now.

The question seemed to surprise Shun. The other boy paused, brow furrowed, then moved to sit in the armchair near the bed. He laced his fingers together and rested his chin on the backs of his hands. Haruto bit his bottom lip, worrying at the flesh with his teeth. He hadn’t expected the question to be a difficult one for Shun to answer.

“It was during the First Interdimensional War,” Shun replied finally, “when the Varians invaded. I was in the crowd at Heartland Tower.”

“Oh.” _Oh._ He hadn’t expected that; it made sense why Shun was hesitant to answer. It was a night Haruto wasn’t fond of remembering either. But Haruto was surprised; Heartland City’s population was massive, and only a few hundred had made it to the Tower that night. Those who remembered the Varian invasion, the only major battle of the First Interdimensional War to effect Heartland City directly, were few and far between. But in a way, it made sense that Shun had survived this long now. "I'm surprised you remember that. I didn't think that anyone would...what I said wasn't particularly inspiring."

“I wouldn't say that. I remember being scared, thinking that it was the end of the world and that we were all going to die. It was just as I was thinking that that you were there, telling us it wasn’t over, that people were still fighting and we shouldn’t lose hope. And suddenly, I wasn’t scared anymore. Because I saw that you were scared, but you hadn’t given up hope, even after what happened to your brother. So I wasn’t going to give up hope either.” Shun looked at him with those last few words, that gentle smile on his lips once more. Haruto felt his face heat as embarrassment and flattery rosied his cheeks.

“I-I’m glad it helped,” Haruto mumbled, ducking his face to hide his blush. It was weird to hear someone speak of him with such… reverence, as though his desperate plea were text of a holy scripture rather than the words of a scared child.

“It had, more than you probably realize. For a long time too,” Shun said. Haruto lifted his head to look at him, but the other boy was looking to the side, staring to some far away place. “After all of that, I ended up joining a cram school for dueling, thinking that maybe if I became a skilled duelist, I’d be able to help protect our home if the Varians ever returned. That I’d be one of the heroes you spoke of.”

 _The Varians never left,_ Haruto thought,  _one of them is here in the City with us._ At least, he hoped Mizael was here. He wondered how Shun would react if he were to know that.

“After a while though, I almost had difficulty believing it hadn’t been anything more than a dream. The light, the red sky, the giant stone flowers… it’s hard to convince yourself that any of it happened when so few people remembered. I found myself wondering if it wasn’t just a mass hallucination, or if I had made it up and my sister was just playing along because she didn’t want to tell me I was going crazy. I stuck to it though, because something told me that it’d be better to be prepared, _just in case._ But...it didn’t help, in the end. None of it did,” Shun’s words trailed off into angry muttering, his gaze dropped to look angrily at his lap.  He suddenly seemed as though he were miles away from Haruto, trapped in the horrors of three years ago. Haruto felt the need to say something, anything, to pull Shun from his tragic reverie. He knew better than anyone that some memories were best left unturned.

“I wouldn’t say that. You’re still here. That’s more than most can say.” Haruto immediately grimaced the moment the words left his mouth. That came out wrong. “What I meant is that your effort didn’t go to waste. You _were_ prepared, and were able to help fight back when many didn’t have the strength to do so. I know things look bad, but so long as we have people still fighting—people like _you—_ I know we’ll be able to make it through somehow.”

It was a lie. Haruto didn’t know a thing. But Shun’s dour mood seemed to lift ever-so-slightly, apparently having found comfort in Haruto’s hollow confidence. Haruto couldn’t help but feel as though he were lying to Shun, and it twisted his heart in an odd way. Abruptly, Haruto tossed the blankets off, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and standing. His balance immediately vanished, and his ears rang as he felt himself pitch forward. Shun was there immediately, catching Haruto and helping him remain upright.

“Are you alright?” Shun asked, tone laced with worry.

“I’m fine, I just stood up too fast.” In reality, Haruto should probably be sleeping still, but he doubted he’d be able to fall asleep again at this point. Haruto braced himself on Shun’s arms, shaking his head to clear it before offering Shun a smile and pulling away. Shun seemed reluctant to let go, releasing Haruto only after he’d proven that he was quite alright. Haruto saw his clothes spread across the couch cushions. They were as dirty as they’d been when he’d arrived, but they were dry so he wasn’t one to complain. He pulled on his shirt, and was about to put on his coat before deciding against it. Unlike his coat, his shirt was still relatively clean, and he’d like to keep it that way for now. Sitting down, he pulled on his socks, grimacing at the dirt between his toes.

“Tenjo- _san_ , can I ask you something?” Haruto glanced at Shun, trying to figure out what sounded wrong about the way Shun had said his name. Tenjo-san… _Oh, it’s the honorific. How on earth could I forget that?_ In Haruto’s defense, he’d spent the past five years living with three people who weren’t Japanese and, as a result, tended to go without using honorifics unless the situation called for it. It was weird to hear them used now.

“Of course,” Haruto replied, dragging his boot over to him, “and just call me Haruto.”

“Haruto- _san_ _—_ ”

“Just Haruto,” he interrupted, shoving his foot into the worn leather boot, fingers threaded through the laces as he pulled them taut. “It’s what everyone calls me.”

“Haruto,” Shun echoed, frowning as though the word was awkward on his tongue. “Have you seen a Numbers before?”

Huh, that wasn’t a question he’d expected.

“Yeah, I have one actually.”

“You _do?_ ” Shun sounded awed, almost, his face the most animated Haruto had seen it being in the short time he’d known Shun. Haruto hummed an affirmation as he laced up his second boot.

“I can show you it, if you’d like. I’m afraid I can’t let you touch it though, it… kinda has some bad side effects. For people who aren’t used to them.” _For normal human beings, more like._ But Haruto wasn’t a normal human being. It’d been a long time since.

“I don’t need to see the card,” Shun said, shaking his head. Haruto hesitated, unsure of what Shun was asking of him. Haruto looked at Shun, their eyes meeting properly for the first time rather than the fleeting glances they’d shared. Haruto found himself suddenly pinned by the intensity of Shun’s stare; his eyes were ablaze, gold lot by a fire that seemed to pierce straight through him. “Duel me,” Shun said by means of explanation.

 _Oh,_ Haruto thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding Shun: It's very strange to write him interacting with someone he's inherently inclined to trust, because we haven't seen Shun around someone he trusts for a long, long time. We've seen him be cagey and suspicious and badass and not much else. His awkwardness is due to him not being sure how to interact with someone outside of people he doesn't trust or people he doesn't already know really well.  
> Regarding the Varians: In O:FKT, I've ordered the Varian's ages by when in history they died. This makes Alito the oldest (by a thousand years), with Mizael and Gilag being the next two oldest. So for a while, it was just those three before the others showed up - hence why Mizael refers to them specifically when thinking about how he had to be a stand in leader for a couple centuries.  
> Also regarding the Varians: In this canon, Mizael is straight up the strongest of the Varians. Nasch is second to him, but even then the gap in power levels is significant.
> 
> For more information and content for this AU, go to o-fkt.tumblr.com  
> For me talking about this AU and lots of wip content, find me on Twitter @tindlefire


	12. Ramen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which value is questioned._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, questions, kudos? If you've got them, leave them!
> 
> The lovely Polux drew MORE stuff for this chapter~! [1, ](https://twitter.com/gemini_polux/status/720619159508422656?s=09)[2](https://twitter.com/gemini_polux/status/722160911696400384?s=09)

"Trap activate; _Mutually Assured Destruction_! When an attack destroys a monster I control, the attacking monster is destroyed as well, and allbattle damage is negated!" Haruto shouted, breaking Shun's combo with a flick of his wrist.

Smoke plumed in the battlefield between them, thickening the air. Their monsters vanished, excitement buzzing in Haruto's veins at his narrowly avoided defeat. He suppressed a grin when he heard Shun click his tongue in disappointment. This had been a close duel; the closest Haruto's had in ages. As it stood, the points were in Shun's favor; his life points nearly ten times Haruto's remaining 350. But as the smoke cleared, Haruto couldn't suppress the smile that crept across his lips. This duel was over.

"It's my turn! Draw!" Haruto gave the card a cursory glance before switching it out for another from his hand. "When there's no monsters currently on my field, I can special summon _Primitive Butterfly_ from my deck! Next, I activate the quick spell _Phantom Scales_. This card allows me to select one monster on my field and summon another copy of that monster." With a flash, a secondary _Primitive Butterfly_ appeared on the field, fluttering its wings as it joined its brethren. " _Primitive Butterfly's_ effect activates! For every copy of this card I have on the field, _Primitive Butterfly's_ level is raised by one.

"I activate my trap card, _Memory Oblivion_! When this card is in effect, monsters on the field are treated as not being there. With 'no monsters' on the field, I can special summon a third _Primitive Butterfly_ from my deck. _Primitive Butterfly's_ effect activates, raising my monsters' levels to seven!"

Haruto's smile widened, and he saw Shun's posture stiffen in anticipation. Now.

"Using two of my _Primitive Butterflies_ , I construct the overlay network!" The field was alight as a golden nebula burst to life. It consumed the offered sacrifices and flickered, growing white-hot. Haruto took a breath and steeled himself.

"Noble herald of the dusk, come forth and guide us toward the fading light! Descend! Rank-7; _No. 28, Titanic Moth_!!"

Light erupted from the network, engulfing the field in a brilliant flash. The Numbers arose from the ash and spark, wind rushing as it spread its massive wings. Haruto could feel the burn of its mark on the side of his neck, could feel the pressure of its presence on the back of his mind as Titanic Moth pushed at the walls surrounding Haruto's psyche, too weak to truly break through the barriers that had been tempered, had been tampered with time and time again, broken and mended to stand resilient. Haruto ignored the frustration of the Numbers as it shrieked in his mind and refocused his attention on winning the duel they waged.

"Go, _Titanic Moth_! Attack Kurosaki directly!" Haruto commanded. Titanic Moth beat its wings. Pale green fire erupted in its wake, the very wind alight as it rushed toward Shun.

" _Titanic Moth's_ attack is still not enough to defeat me!" Shun shouted. There was an assured gleam in his eyes, the unspoken _'next turn, I will win'_ apparent in his stance. Haruto didn't doubt it.

But unfortunately, there is no next turn.

"That's what you'd like to think! _Titanic Moth's_ effect activates! When I successfully attack you directly, I can detach one overlay unit from _Titanic Moth_ to inflict 500 points of additional damage for each card in your hand! You have four cards, adding up to a damage total of 4400!"

Shun's confidence faltered, his eyes wide in the pale light as realization struck him. In the split second before impact, he dug his heels into the ground and shielded his face with his arms. The maelstrom hit him full force, lifting him off his feet and throwing him back despite his efforts to stay grounded. The counter dinged as Shun hit the floor, the sound sealing Haruto's victory. Haruto whooped, high on adrenaline as he sprinted across the field to where Shun was picking himself up off the ground.

"Kurosaki! That was great!" Shun gave Haruto a confused look as Haruto grabbed his hands and pulled him to his feet.

"What was?" Shun inquired, brushing the dust from his coat.

"The duel! You're incredible!"

"What do... but you won." Shun's incredulousness turned to a frown.

" _Barely_. I thought I was screwed until the last two turns! You're an amazing duelist; I just got lucky honestly," Haruto reassured, offering Shun a grin. Shun looked as though he wanted to disagree, but he simply shook his head, that soft smile on his lips once more, quiet as a whisper.

Haruto was telling the truth when he said he was lucky. Had Haruto not had the advantage of possessing a Numbers, had he not learned from the particular duelists who had taught him how to run this deck, he would have lost to Shun easily. It was obvious, how Shun had survived all these years. Haruto looked out over the empty stands surrounding the field and imagined the crowds that had been privy to Shun's dueling. He wondered if they found it intriguing, or if to them it was unsettling; Shun dueled with the purpose of a survivor, his infallibility and ire present in every card. It was intense, a reminder of the original intention behind a duel, before weapons were traded for cards.

"Okay," Shun said after a moment, "I'll admit, I want to see the card now." Haruto chuckled and pulled Titanic Moth from his deck, holding the card up for Shun to see.

"Sorry, I still can't let you hold it. If it were a more mild Numbers maybe, but this one is particularly fickle and I don't know how long it'd need to influence you."

"So the talk about Numbers cards taking over people's minds was true? I always thought that was just people spreading fantastical rumors out of excitement," Shun commented, taking hold of Haruto's hand to tilt the card upward. Shun's hand was warm around his, fingers calloused and rough. Haruto fought to suppress the blush rising to his cheeks at the unexpected contact.

"N-no. I mean the rumors were true. Ish. I can't vouch for their accuracy, but Numbers do have a way of driving people insane if the card falls into their hands. They're from the Varian world originally," Haruto explained. Shun quirked a brow.

"Varian, huh? Numbers cannot be defeated unless by another Numbers," Shun read. "So that's what makes them so unique."

"Yeah, you didn't get a chance to see that firsthand, did you? Numbers can be pretty powerful, but it's really the built-in indestructibility that is the advantage."

Haruto pulled his hand away as Shun released it from his grip, tucking the card back into his deck and that into the box at his hip. Glancing up, he noticed that Shun was frowning again, his expression pensive as he looked out over the battlefield.

"Hey, Kurosaki, are you okay?" Haruto asked. His breath caught as Shun's eyes flicked down, his stare pinning Haruto in place like a butterfly to the wall. Shun held him there in silence, searching Haruto's face as though it held the answer to whatever he was looking for.

"Haruto, why weren't—" Shun hesitated, lips pressed into a thin line as he reconsidered his words.

"Why-?" Haruto prompted, but Shun shook his head.

"Ignore it, it's not important," Shun said, all trace of his prior intensity gone as soon as it appeared. Haruto blinked from the whiplash, his mind reeling as his thoughts remained stuck in the few seconds before. He opened his mouth to ensure that Shun didn't want to ask his question, but the words died on his tongue as Shun turned and walked toward the entry door of the duel arena, scattering the final salvageable threads of conversation.

"Where are we headed to now?" Haruto asked, jogging to catch up with Shun's long strides.

"We should probably change your bandages and get something to eat—" Shun paused to look at the analog clock that hung above the doorway "—and then I have a duel scheduled. Which you’re welcome to watch, if you want."

Haruto looked up at the clock as well, shocked to find that it read 18:25. The Underground Duel Arena notably lacked windows, and Haruto hadn't been aware of the passage of time until now.

"Wow I slept a long time, didn't I?" He said, following shun up the stairs.

"You probably needed it," Shun replied, leading him through the blank hallways and to the familiar door of the boarding room. Holding the door open, Shun let Haruto into the room first before stepping in and shutting the door.

Haruto did his best not to squirm as Shun changed his bandages. It was difficult to sit still as Shun applied the burn salve across his back as Haruto was incredibly ticklish across his ribs, but after five torturous minutes of cringing and giggles, Shun finally pulled his hands away, gathering the old bandages and tossing them into the sink to be cleaned later. Dinner was white rice with nothing to garnish it and an orange that they split between them, sitting cross legged on the floor as they talked about everything and nothing, each of them deftly switching to a new topic of conversation the moment something hit too close to home or reminded them of tragedies they’d rather forget, if just for a moment. The time came for Shun to don his riding suit, Haruto vehemently not noticing the way it clung to his skin while becoming concerned about how unhealthily thin Shun was. Shun offered to lead him to a viewing box, but Haruto turned it down in favor of sitting amongst the sizable crowd that had gathered in the bleachers. He had wanted to observe their reactions to Shun’s dueling, and this was the perfect opportunity to do so. So Haruto found himself squashed between a sizable man and a woman with perfume that smelled distinctly sour, watching in fascination as Shun whizzed around the arena track on his D-Wheel. The crowd reacted how Haruto suspected they would; simultaneously bewitched and uneased by the way Shun commanded the field unforgivingly. Cheers were punctuated by gasps of disbelief, and Haruto found himself the only person in sight whose attention wasn’t solely dedicated to the battle waging below. It wasn’t as though Haruto found the duel uninteresting; rather it was familiar, in a way that was both comforting and made him feel as though there were a hand holding his heart in a tight grip. The duel was a slaughter, ending nearly as quickly as it started. Shouts rose to a cacophony around him as the opponent’s life points dropped to zero and Shun’s victory loudly proclaimed over the microphone. Shun caught Haruto’s eye in the crowd, and Haruto quickly slipped out from the bleachers, dodging between money filled hands as people won or lost their personal bets.

He found the D-Wheel dock easily, the stairwell leading down to it marked by bold letters and a large arrow painted on the wall. Haruto found his steps slowing as he reached the top of the stairwell. Shouts rang from the room below, an unfamiliar voice interrupted by Shun’s low tone. Haruto quickly descended the stairs, pausing at the turn to see the unfamiliar duelist who had lost aggressively approaching Shun.

“That was a dirty fucking trick, Kurosaki. I should have won that duel, not you with your fake cards and bullshit summon you mysteriously conjured up!” the duelist snarled, shoving at Shun, who glared at him impassively.

“It was all legal. You shouldn’t be on the circuit if you’re not prepared to lose,” Shun replied.

“You little shit!” The man made to swing at Shun, and Haruto’s eyes widened as he realized how much bigger the man was in comparison to Shun’s lithe frame. He’ll snap him in half.

“Hey!” They both turned at Haruto’s shout, and Haruto felt a lump stick itself in his throat as he was faced with the stranger’s very angry gaze. Swallowing, he forced himself to continue speaking. “Picking fights isn’t going to make you win the duel. It’s over. You should just leave.”

The man scoffed, and Haruto took a step back as he stalked toward him. “Not going to make me win the duel? Is that what you think, pretty boy? How about I show you just how much I could win—”

His words were cut off as he let out a choked gasp and crumpled to the floor. Shun lowered his foot, glaring at the man’s fallen form angrily. Haruto gaped at Shun. He hadn’t even seen him move. Then again, he had been more focused on the imminent threat but still, that was—

“That was so cool,” Haruto breathed. Shun gave him a bewildered look, before shaking his head and stepping over the man and looking Haruto over.

“Are you okay?” he asked. Haruto nodded.

“I’m fine. Is—” Haruto glanced at the fallen man.

“I just knocked him out. Security will take care of him when they come by,” Shun replied. “We should leave in case he wakes up before then, though.”

The hallways were dark as they slipped through them. Shun’s boarding room had become a welcome place, Haruto realized as he discarded his shoes and flopped on the creaky double bed, bouncing slightly as he sat up. Shun disappeared into the bathroom to change, and Haruto preoccupied himself with shucking his coat and absently taking inventory of what his pockets held. There was a 10 note he had found on the floor when escaping the crowd in the Arena, a screwdriver, a stick of gum that was who-knows-how old, and a piece of string that probably came from the stitching of his pocket. Nothing of use, though the money might come in handy later. He folded that up and shoved it into the depths of his coat pocket, slipping the screwdriver in on top of it so it wouldn’t fall out.

“Here.”

Haruto jumped as a change of clothes collided with his face. Pulling the fabric away, he blew his bangs away from his face and glared at Shun, who was failing to hide his smirk beside his best efforts. Haruto dropped his gaze to the clothes, and he unfolded them, revealing a grey pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt with some logo on it that Haruto didn’t recognize.

“I didn’t think you’d want to sleep in your clothes again,” Shun offered. “The bathroom’s all yours.”

“Oh! Thank you.” Haruto went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. The tile was a horrific, outdated pink, and the lighting made Haruto look absolutely ghoulish as he scrutinized himself in the mirror. He hoped he didn’t look like that. Pulling the sweatpants and shirt on, he splashed water on his face and made an attempt to comb his fingers through his hair, grimacing as they snagged on the countless snarls. Slipping out of the bathroom, he found that Shun had moved one of the pillows to the floor.

“You can go ahead and take the bed,” Shun said from where he rummaged through the cupboard in the kitchenette. Haruto frowned at the pillow on the floor.

“But it’s your bed,” Haruto protested.

“It’s fine. You’re injured and I’ve slept on harder things than a carpeted floor.”

Haruto’s frown deepened. Picking up the pillow, he tossed it on the bed.

“Haruto?”

“There’s enough room for both of us,” Haruto said, ignoring the way his cheeks heated as he slid beneath the covers and turned off the lamp on his side, his back turned to Shun. “There’s no need for you to sleep on a hard, stinky floor that god-knows-what has infused itself into.”

Shun didn’t respond, but Haruto heard a click as the last lamp was shut off, plunging the room into complete darkness. The mattress sank as Shun laid down, a sizeable gap between the two of them as they both sought to respect the other’s space. In the silence of the room, Haruto could hear electricity buzzing from the appliances. He turned on his back, tucking his arms beneath his head as he stared blindly at the ceiling he wished had stars on it.

“Kurosaki?”

“Hmm?”

“If you wouldn't mind telling me, how did you end up here?” The darkness of the room made it easier to be confident, a facade of anonymity granted by the fact that he couldn’t see the expression on Shun’s face even if he tried. “You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to. That’s fine too. But I’d like to help, if I can.”

Haruto felt Shun shift, a quiet rustling in the silence.

“I’m looking for my younger sister,” Shun explained. “Academia… they took her. They didn’t card her, just… snatched her away. Her name is Ruri.”

Shun’s voice was strained, as though it hurt his throat to talk about it. Haruto knew the feeling all too well. That fear was there, even now, buried beneath years of self-assurance and denial. Haruto listened to Shun’s uneven breaths, before he sucked in a deep breath of his own.

“My brother actually did die, back then,” Haruto said, voice quiet in the dark. He heard Shun’s breath hitch, felt as he shifted again. “When the Varians invaded. He suffocated to death on the moon. It’s said to be one of the most painful ways to die, but he didn’t seem in pain. He just seemed resigned.

“You know, I learned something from that. From watching him die further from home than he could be anywhere else. Sometimes things happen and we just can’t stop it, but there is never a time in our lives that we should give up hope, because there’s still a chance we can fix things. However slight, it’s still there. We just have to look for it.”

The buzzing electricity replaced his voice as Haruto fell silent again, still staring at the ceiling. His eyes were beginning to adjust at this point, but he didn’t turn to look at Shun, instead choosing to trace the cracks in the plaster with his gaze. Shun didn’t reply, but his breathing was even, and Haruto realized that the prior awkwardness between them had disappeared completely. He didn’t know how long he remained staring at the ceiling, didn’t remember the exact moment he had finally fallen asleep, Shun’s presence warm beside him despite the distance between them.

✥

Commons was alive as they walked through the hazy light of the early morning. Cars and people choked the streets, boisterous in their going-abouts. Despite the derelict state of their neighborhood and their own drab appearances, the people of Commons seemed relatively normal, conversing and greeting one another as they made their way. Vendors called from the edges of the fray, peddling their goods and capturing the attention of passerbys. Children ran amok, laughing as they wove between feet and shins and tripped the unassuming bystander. Haruto realized now that he hadn't needed to worry about picking the remaining dirt from his coat. Even with his bandages and soiled clothing, he still remained one of the best-dressed people on the street; something that Haruto was acutely aware of as one of the children ran past with a bag that she didn't have a moment ago. Haruto's hand immediately wandered to his hip, where his deck box rested on his belt. He couldn't afford to let the Numbers fall into the hands of a wayward thief, let alone a mere child. From what he could tell, Commons was vast. Finding the card again would be a trial, and it'd be hard to say how much havoc Titanic Moth could wreak in the meanwhile.

Ahead on the street, someone shouted. strong grip suddenly encircled Haruto's arm, and he found himself pulled close to Shun's side as a man on a rusted blue bicycle nearly ran him down. The bicyclist shouted again as he flew by; Haruto couldn't make out what he'd said, but it must have been rude as Shun turned and granted the man a withering glare as he pedaled away.

"Stay close to me," Shun murmured. His grip on Haruto's arm loosened, his hand dropping to the hollow of Haruto's elbow. Haruto felt his traitorous blush from earlier return as Shun led him through the crowd and toward a stand at the side of the road. It was a freestanding ramen stall, the delicious scent wafting freely down the street and making Haruto's stomach clench in hunger. Following Shun, Haruto ducked his head beneath the yellow banner flags that obscured the stall interior and glanced around. The cook was busy working, adding the final touches to the only customer seated in one of the five stools. He glanced up from his work on the food briefly, a customary look as they sat in the empty stools at the end. Turning his attention back to the food, the cook paused, straightening to look at them properly.

"Wait a minute, aren't you Kurosaki Shun? The duelist who's been holding ranks at the Underground this week?" The cook asked enthusiastically, teeth widened in a crooked toothy grin as he slid the ramen bowl toward the waiting customer.

"...Yes," Shun replied.

"Well it's great to meet'cha Kurosaki! You're a wicked duelist. I owe you all the betting money I've won this past week!" The cook laughed heartily, turning to Haruto. "You're his friend, you've seen how the guy duels, right?"

"Yeah, he's incredible." Haruto offered a smile to Shun,who seemed stiff under the attention, gaze leveled at the counter. _He's uncomfortable,_ Haruto realized, his smile falling. He quickly sought to change the subject. "Um, if you wouldn't mind, we're really hungry and—"

"Of course you're hungry. You wouldn't be at a ramen stand if you weren't, now would you? Two bowls coming right up!" The cook gave him a good-natured wink and turned away, whistling as he worked. For a moment Haruto was concerned that the cook would continue to chatter about Shun's performances, but the man was focused completely on his task, all but forgetting they were even there as he merrily chopped to the beat of the song he whistled. Haruto glanced to where Shun glared at the counter and gently nudged his arm with his elbow.

"Not a fan of the limelight?" Haruto teased.

"I– no, it's not...it's different, when I'm actually dueling. It's fine then, but when I don't have a duel disk on, the amount of attention is...uncomfortable," Shun explained with a shrug.

_Because you're caught off guard; you're not prepared to fight. Because in Heartland, to be a known name is to be standing in the crosshairs._

Haruto knew this better than anyone. He let the topic drop, the sounds of the street filtering through the silence that fell between them. Absently drumming his fingers on the countertop, Haruto rested his chin in his other hand he tried to ignore the ache in his stomach. It made sense that he'd been so tired now that he thought about it. He hadn't really eaten an actual meal since two days ago – his stew had been left untouched, abandoned in his fit of anger, and a slice of bread only sustained for so long. His stomach clenched again, and Haruto forced himself to think about something that wasn't food-related. Haruto blinked and realized that his eyes had gravitated to Shun as he'd spaced out. Shun didn't seemed to notice Haruto's staring – presumably too wrapped up in his own thoughts – so Haruto took the opportunity to let his gaze linger. He hadn't gotten the opportunity to really look at Shun before now; it had either been too dim or Shun had been too far or Haruto hadn't been looking at Shun or he had been caught up in Shun's eyes and hadn't taken note of any of his other features. It was as Haruto was watching the long, dark bangs that framed shun's face blow in the slight breeze that he realized Shun was handsome, beneath his reticence and general lack of charisma and the perpetual scowl that rarely eased, even when he smiled. If their world hadn't effectively ended and they'd led normal lives, Haruto was sure that Shun would have been popular among the girls at school, rumored to be some angsty, misunderstood soul who pushed the world away because he felt emotions too deeply or something as ridiculous. Haruto frowned. If the world hadn't ended, Shun would probably have been completely different than he was now. He squinted, as though he were trying to see the person Shun used to be behind his hardened personality, but all he got was a confused glance from Shun as he finally noticed Haruto's staring.

"Haruto, what are you doing?"

"I-I um, I thought I saw a fly buzzing around your face. It was probably my imagination though," Haruto said lamely, offering an embarrassed laugh. Shun just quirked a brow, almost smiling. The moment was broken as two steaming bowls of ramen were placed in front of them. Haruto wasted no time breaking apart his chopsticks and promptly burning his tongue on the scalding noodles. He breathed out around the food in his mouth, trying to cool it before giving up and swallowing it in one burning gulp. His eyes watered, and he looked to see Shun watching his display of theatrics, visibly amused.

"You're better than me, you know," Shun said after a moment of deliberation. Haruto looked up from where he shoved his noodles around the bowl.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked as the steam from his bowl plumed and clouded his vision. He waved it away.

"At dueling. And a lot of other things I'm sure."

"Lies and slander," Haruto said offhandedly as he pinched the noodles and lifted them to cool. "I'm good at maybe five things and terrible at almost everything else. Don't ever ask me to participate in any sport."

Shun laughed. Haruto shoved his noodles in his mouth, eyes widening as the savory taste hit his tongue. Now that he took the time to actually taste what he was eating rather than just burning his mouth, the food was—

"This is _delicious_ ," Haruto said in awe, staring at the bowl before him.

"I'm glad to hear it!" The cook piped up, grinning at him. Haruto returned the smile before ducking his head and leaning over to whisper to Shun.

"He's like a professional chef. Why is he stuck down here in the slums?" he asked.

"From what I've gathered, City is divided by status. The top one percent lives a life of luxury while the remaining citizens are stuck down here. I'd imagine that some people are brought up to serve the rich, but it's still not many. The window of opportunity is near non-existent, regardless of how hardworking or skilled you may be," Shun explained. Haruto stared at him, and then looked around at the derelict buildings that lined the street they sat beside. The injustice sat ill in his stomach, and Haruto felt anger heat his cheeks.

"That is disgusting," he hissed through gritted teeth.

"It's the way it is," Shun replied apathetically. He seemed completely unconcerned by the blatant inequality that plagued these people. Haruto stared at him in disbelief, chopsticks tight in his grip.

"The way it is? How can this not bother you?" He demanded. Shun blinked, surprised by Haruto's sudden frustration. Haruto knew he shouldn't take it out on Shun, but he couldn't understand how Shun wasn't disturbed by this.

"Our city has been reduced to rubble and our lives are engulfed in war. Are you going to scorn me for feeling envious that they at least have a consistent roof over their heads? That they don't feel as though they have to constantly look over their shoulder just in case?" Shun snapped. Haruto flinched, recoiling at Shun's harsh words.

"I'm saying sympathy isn't unwarranted," Haruto defended, but his heart dropped as he realized Shun was right; he wasn't like Haruto, who had hidden away in the mountains for the past three years. Shun had been in the middle of the fray, fighting for his life and for their home. Shun was Resistance. He wasn't a coward like Haruto.

Haruto frowned at his ramen, stirring the broth absently. He should have ignored Chris and Mizael, should have gone back to Heartland and joined the Resistance when he still had the chance. Maybe it wouldhave made a difference. Maybe he could have helped, maybe they would have won. But you wouldn't have. The Varians tried, Chris' brother's tried. And they fell. _Mizael would have gone himself it had he not considered a suicidal effort at that point,_ his mind supplied. Haruto's frown deepened. Mizael _would_ have faced Academia; war was an old, unwelcome friend to him, and he had more experience in warfare than any man should hope to have, for good reason. But Ryouga had told Mizael to leave, to act as their bodyguard while they tried to finish the Gateway. The same Gateway that had ultimately proved useless. Their efforts, the time that the others had bought them, proved to be completely fruitless. Lifting his bowl, Haruto downed the rest of his food, determined to shake the conflict from his mind. The bowl thumped as he placed it roughly on the counter and breathed deeply.

A squeal broke through his thoughts, and he glanced over to see the street urchins run by the stools of the ramen stand, grabbing the seat legs and shaking them as they passed, disrupting the other customers.

"Oi, I've told you kids before, get out of here before I make you!" The cook shouted, spit flying as he shook a spoon at them. Haruto recoiled from the spittle, and suddenly the world tilted and he was falling back, balance lost as the stool tipped. Throwing his hands out behind, he tried to brace his fall as he hit the ground hard, his still injured back and shoulders aching from the impact. He groaned at the pain.

"Haruto are you alright?" Shun was already off his stool, kneeling beside Haruto as he picked himself up off the ground.

"Yeah, I'm good," Haruto gritted out, taking Shun's offered hand and standing stiffly. He glared at the children as they snickered and disappeared into the crowd. "Stupid brats."

"Well I'm certainly sorry about that," the cook said. "Those kids are a nuisance. With no one to take care of 'em they just run around and look for trouble. A sad state of affairs, but unless money begins to fall from the sky, few people will be up for taking in a kid that isn't their own."

"Speaking of which, how much do we owe you?" Shun asked. Haruto look at him, surprised that Shun even had money. He guessed that dueling for the Underground paid after all.

"None. It's on the house, both as a thank-you for winning my bets and an apology for the disturbance. You can pay me back by winning more duels. I'll be betting on ya!" The cook laughed, waving them off. Shun flushed again and pulled Haruto behind them as he quickly strode away from the stand and the attention.

Haruto let Shun lead him through Commons, trying to commit their surroundings to memory as they made their way back to the Underground; he figured it'd be better that he had some vague knowledge of their immediate area.

"Haruto!!"

The shout came from behind, and Haruto turned to see Mizael running toward them at a breakneck speed, Chris trailing behind. Mizael slowed mere feet in front of them, nearly colliding into Haruto as he descended in a tempest of maternal concern.

"Are you okay? Where are you hurt?" Mizael demanded, taking Haruto's hands in his own and inspecting the bandages on his face and arms.

"Mizael, I'm fine, really. I just got banged up on the way over here," Haruto reassured. Mizael sighed and hugged him gently, stroking his hair. Haruto let his eyes fall shut, relaxing into the familiar affection.

"You have got to stop worrying me, Haruto. I'm too old for this," Mizael said, exasperated. Haruto laughed and pulled away as Chris ran up to them.

"Jesus Mizael, warn me next time before you take off like that," he panted, bending over and sucking in deep breaths.

"Learn to run faster," Mizael shot back. Haruto patted Chris on the arm sympathetically, squawking as Chris ruffled his hair in retaliation.

"And who do we have to thank for saving our dear Haruto?" Chris asked, turning his attention to Shun, who had been quietly standing to the side during the entire exchange.

"Oh!" Haruto exclaimed, darting to Shun's side and drawing him forward. "This is Shun Kurosaki. He's from the Resistance." Chris looked from Shun to Haruto, skepticism clear in his eyes. Haruto returned the look with one that said _yes, he's actually from the Resistance, you can trust him_. Or at least that's what he hoped it conveyed. He was probably just staring at Chris really hard.

"Well Kurosaki, it's a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for helping Haruto, we're indebted to you," Chris said, extending his hand. Shun awkwardly shook it, brow furrowed as he looked at Chris. Suddenly, recognition lit up Shun's eyes.

"You're Christoper Arkwright!" Shun exclaimed. Chris blinked, his skepticism melting into surprise.

"You know Chris?" Haruto asked. Depending on where Shun knew Chris from, it might help dispel any lingering suspicion that Shun might not be a Heartland native. Haruto believe him from the short time they spent together, from seeing how Shun held himself and how he dueled. Granted, they only knew each other for a short time, and it could be said that Haruto was too trusting of people. He liked to think that it was simply Chris and Mizael who were jaded.

"I know _of_ him. You invented the D-Gazer tattoo right? I remember reading about it in Card Weekly when I was a kid," Shun explained.

Haruto saw Chris relax, his rigid stance easing into a more natural posture. If Academia were to provide notes on Chris to a potential spy, it'd likely regard his brief dueling career or the other scientific developments he partook in. It was little-known information that Chris had invented the D-Gazer tattoo; it wasn't something Chris had ever overtly taken credit for, nor was it technology that was commonly used outside the elite dueling circuit.

"I remember that interview," Chris said, his nose wrinkling in distaste, "but I digress. Kurosaki, I doubt you'd fault me for wondering how a member of the Resistance ended up in the Synchro Dimension in the first place."

"Honestly, I was wondering the same of you—" Shun paused, casting a glance down the street at a collection of people gathered around a barrel fire "—but I don't think this is the best place to discuss this."

"It's not," Mizael said from where he leaned against the wall. There was no trace of the warmth he had offered Haruto moments before, replaced by the hard stare of a warrior and the repressed alertness that meant their location was one he didn't consider safe. Mizael's compassion was a fleeting thing, hidden beneath the stony exterior built by experience and hardship. Haruto was used to it, but he could see Shun'slips twitch downwards as he tried and failed to get a read on Mizael.

"We have a secure location," Chris added. "That is, if you wouldn't mind lending us an hour or two of your time, Kurosaki."

Haruto expected for Shun's caution to lead him to turn down the offer, but Shun nodded.

"Good then, let's be on our way." Chris turned down a side street. Mizael pushed off the wall, gently wrapping an arm around Haruto's shoulders as they followed. Haruto relaxed at the contact, unaware of how tightly-wound he had been until now. It was good to have familiarity, but familiarity would never replace the comfort of home.


	13. Reconciliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which the author humbly explains the plot._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I messed up. Chapter twelve was supposed to span two days and contain a time-skip scene where Haruto watches Shun duel in the Underground and they talk and stuff. I'm going to have to edit that chapter, but keep that in mind when reading this.

_Kaito didn't look up as he heard the door hiss open, locks unlatching one after the other. The timer on his visor ticked down steadily, informing him that he only had a mere two minutes of visibility left as he typed rapidly, racing time._

_"What is it," he asked, kicking off the floor with his feet, the chair rolling over to the paper-littered desk a few paces away. He flipped through them rapidly. "If they want to record another broadcast, tell them that I'm busy with a prioritized project and to take it up with the Professor."_

_"Not quite." Kaito looked up to see Yuuri walk in, the door sliding closed with a loud clang behind him. He smirked as though he knew something Kaito didn't, a small secret to hold over his head. But Yuuri always had that smile, and Kaito had learned to disregard it. "Actually, I've been told to inform you that after the last broadcast, it has been decided to cease propaganda production."_

_"Well I doubt there's anyone around to watch them," Kaito stated, tossing a book aside as he picked up another. "Ruins don't exactly have working television."_

_"That's part of the reason," Yuuri mused._

_"And the other part?"_

_"You know your friend? The one who_ somehow _knew that we had identified him after your little improv session? They think he and whoever he's with managed to escape to another dimension. Possibly even this one."_

_The timer hit zero, and Kaito blinked uselessly as the world faded from view._

 

✥

 

When Chris said they had a secure location, Haruto had expected something along the lines of a back alley hideout or an abandoned building of some sort. What he  _hadn't_ expected was the high class skyscraper they drove up to. The tall windows reflected the sunset, setting the skyscraper alight with a burning glow that sent shivers up Haruto's spine as the building loomed above them. It was the wrong shape to be Heartland Tower, but it was similar enough for the effect to make him distictly uncomfortable.

The road led them underground, the amber light of the setting sun cut from view as they drove into the shadows of a parking garage. Driving further into the ramp, they decended, eventually coming to a stop as Chris parked in an isolated corner of the garage. It was eerily silent as they stepped out of the car, the level completely empty aside from their vehicle. Haruto closed his door softly, trying to make as little noise as possible.

"This way," Mizael said, leading Haruto around the corner and through a door, the smooth metal marked with black letters stating 'Authorized Service Personnel Only'. It opened into a hall, a winding grated stairwell lying around the corner and behind another unmarked door. The silence that had fallen during the drive persisted as they traversed the stairs, ascending steadily as they took the steps two at a time. Haruto's legs ached by the time they reached landing twelve, but it was a welcome feeling, enlivening amid the throbbing of his wounds. They waited for Chris to make sure the hall was clear before he ushered them through the stairwell exit and toward one of the few doors that sparsely lined the walls, unlocking the door quickly with a swipe of a keycard he produced from his breast pocket.

"Where are we?" Haruto asked as he stepped inside and took in the bland, high class decor. "How did you guys manage to find a place like this? It's barely been two days, unless I managed to fall through time as well as space."

"You didn't fall through time," Chris replied, shutting the door behind them. "I just happened to run into an old family friend from home, and he's offered to house us for the time being."

It was as Chris was finishing his sentence that the man himself shuffled into the living room, arms wrapped around a stack of boxes that swayed precariously. He startled as he saw Haruto, and the box at the top of the stack tipped as it was jostled. Mizael caught it before it could dump its contents onto the ground.

"So you found him," the man said, placing the boxes on the floor and adjusting his glasses as he squinted at Haruto.

"Haruto, meet professor Isamu Takeru," Chris said. "Takeru, this is Haruto Tenjo."

"Still not a professor Chris," Takeru mumbled, side-eyeing Chris before turning to Haruto, his hands shoved casually in his pockets. "Well Haruto, it's weird to see you, seeing how the last time we met you were only a couple months old. You're the spitting image of your mother."

"Oh," Haruto said, the pieces falling into place in his mind. An old friend of the Arkwrights who knew Haruto and his mother... "You're the one who stole Byron's research."

"I didn't steal it, I tested the project too early and accidently took it with me when I was spat out here," Takeru corrected with a joking wag of his finger, "but yeah, close enough. I'm surprised he told you about that. I have to say, for all I recognize you, Haruto, I can't say the same about your friend here."

Haruto looked to find Shun standing quietly behind him, the perfect image of dark and brooding with his arms crossed over his chest. He had to suppress a snicker as Shun's intimidating guise dropped the moment he realized they were talking about him, wide-eyed and caught off guard. Reaching out, Haruto tugged on Shun's arm, pulling him forward to stand beside him.

"This is Kurosaki Shun. He's a member of the Resistance," Haruto explained as Shun awkwardly offered a nod of his head. "They're the ones who fought Academia back home."

"Resistance, huh? You're the one who was on the D-Wheel," Takeru concluded, scratching at the stubble on his chin as he looked up at Shun. His expression turned grim, and he removed his hands from his pockets to place them on his hips. "You've got some guts, facing off Security like that. Not that we're not all thankful for you intervening, but you're going to want to think twice before you pull another stunt like that; if you're not careful, you're going to end up with a criminal marker."

"I'm aware," Shun replied shortly. Unease settled in Haruto's stomach at the mention of  _criminal marker_ and he caught Shun's gaze as it met his, but Shun offered no explanation.

Takeru, apparently satisfied by Shun's response, turned and promptly picked up the boxes he'd abandoned. Mizael still held the one he'd caught, and he followed Takeru out of the room as he carefully maneuvered down the hall.

"So, you wanted to know how we got here," Chris said, taking a seat on one of the beige counches that bracketed a round coffee table. Haruto was sure the layout was intended to come across as sophisticated and modern, but he couldn't help but find it sterile and dead-looking in comparison to the lived in clutter of the villa. The sudden pang of homesickness had Haruto leaving Shun's side to join Chris on the couch.

"Not really how you got here," Shun clarified, taking a seat on the couch across from them, "but why you're  _here_ and not in Heartland. Seeing as your family and the Tenjos are both known for scientific work I assume you managed to build a transporter of some kind."

"Kurosaki, how much do you know about the carding technology Academia possesses?" Chris asked with a frown. It was then that Haruto realized that Shun didn't know about the propaganda, that he likely didn't even know that Kaito was still alive despite having been proclaimed dead five years ago. It hadn't been until the fourth wave that Academia had begun broadcasting, and it wasn't long after that the Resistance was all but wiped out.

"I know it's there, and how to steal the chip from an Academia duel disk and install it. That's about it," Shun replied, his eyes narrowed. "Why?"

Haruto felt himself bristle at Shun's piercing glower. Chris remained unaffected; it didn't surprise Haruto, really, seeing as Chris could easily outdo Shun in terms of steel-edged looks. Haruto had yet to meet someone who was able to muster a more scathing glare than Chris.

"The origins of the research used to develop the sealing technology that Academia uses can be traced back to an invention devised by Dr. Faker eleven years ago called 'Photon Hand'. Carding and many of the other technologies Academia utilizes were conceived in Heartland," Chris explained.

"It was stolen? When did..." Shun looked at Haruto, his expression grim. "It was back then, wasn't it? When Heartland Tower was attacked." Haruto nodded and Shun let out a harsh breath, leaning back against the couch cusions. "So it's all stolen technology," Shun reiterated, "Heartland essentially orchestrated its own downfall."

"Unfortunately, that's not the only thing they took. Had they only stolen the research notes, they wouldn't have been able to do much with them; Dr. Faker had both horrific handwriting and was notorious for only recording scattered pieces of what he was doing," Chris continued.

"Then how—"

"They took Kaito." Mizael's words cut Shun's question as he strode past and sat heavily on the couch Chris and Haruto occupied. "He's been developing it for them."

Silence fell through the room, heavy with implication. Shun was stone-faced, his perpetual scowl deepening as he processed what Mizael had just said.

"Voluntarily?" He said finally.

"No," Haruto said immediately, "Kaito would never—"

"The fact of the matter is we just don't know," Mizael interrupted. Haruto looked at him, aghast; Mizael held his hand up, cutting him off once more. "I don't think he's turned against us either, Haruto. But we need to aknowledge that it's a possibility. Unconditional trust is a sure path to ending up dead, and we will be better off having taken every potential outcome into consideration before going ahead with what is already an incredibly risk-laden plan."

Haruto's protest died on his tongue, and he shut his mouth wordlessly. There were times when Mizael spoke directly from experience, and to ignore his wisdom in an act of emotional turmoil would be an insult to the hardship he had endured. And Haruto would rather swallow his bitter frustration than disregard Mizael.

"So you're trying to get Kaito back," Shun concluded. He folded his arms across his chest, gaze dropping to the knee of his crossed legs. Haruto recognized the pensive look on his face from the moments after their duel, when he had begun to ask Haruto something but had decided against it. Shun looked up as Haruto stood and crossed the space between them, taking a seat next to Shun.

"Shun, it's okay. You can ask," Haruto said softly, laying a hand on his arm. "It's bothering you."

Shun gave him a long look. Haruto could see the uncertainty in his eyes, as though he were afraid that the unspoken words could tear apart the tenuous companionship that had grown between them in the past few days.

"It's okay," Haruto repeated, smiling.

"You weren't there when Academia attacked, were you. You haven't been in Heartland," Shun said finally. It wasn't a question, and the lingering accusation laced in his words explained his hesitation; had Haruto not preemtively braced himself for it, had he not suspected the nature of Shun's question, he would have flinched at the implication. But Shun had the right to ask this of them, because Shun was one of those who  _had_ stayed, who had fought against Academia with every beat of his heart. And Shun was all that remained of that effort.

"We weren't," Chris affirmed, "but our departure wasn't with the intention of fleeing. In the wake of Academia's intial attack, it became apparent that we weren't going to be able to fend them off, given that they were from another dimension and were able to easily—and endlessly—renew their resources, an amenity we lacked completely. So we came up with a plan to build an Interdimensional Gateway and use it to attack the heart of Academia directly. We sought to carry this out in a safe house located a distance from Heartland City, in order to protect the technology from potential destruction or sabotage on behalf of Academia. Haruto came with us so he could likewise be protected."

"What's your part in all of this, then?" Shun asked Mizael.

"I'm the protection," Mizael stated bluntly.

"Essentially what happened is we ran out of time," Chris continued. "We didn't overestimate the strength of our comrades, but we severely underestimated Academia's capabilities. The addition of mass to solid vision is something entirely unique to them; it's not something we could have foreseen. And while we had the ability to defend against that kind of firepower, the few people who were able to do so were singled out and overwhelmed. They knew exactly who to look for."

"We didn't stand a chance," Haruto concluded, the melancholy weight of that simple fact causing his eyes to sting. He rubbed them discreetly, wiping away the tears before they could grow and fall. The days for crying over what had been lost were gone. The days ahead would prove to be crucial to their endeavors; he had to focus on what lay ahead. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as he tried to collect himself, palm pressed to his forehead. The conversation continued, but Haruto wasn't paying attention, trying to ward off the sudden onslaught of bad memories that he had kept at bay for so long. A hand slid into Haruto's free one, calloused fingers interlacing with his own and squeezing gently. Haruto's eyes blinked open, and his lifted his hand from his palm to look up at Shun in surprise. The other boy was looking ahead as he spoke to Mizael and Chris, but a telltale blush dusted his cheeks. Haruto smiled, thankful for the quiet comfort of their hands entwined, hidden between them by their closeness.

The conversation drifted to the events leading up to their arrival in Synchro, how the Gateway had led them to the wrong dimension and possibilities of how to confront Academia. Haruto listened vaguely as he rested his head agains the back of the couch and watched the electric fan spin overhead, the sunlight causing the blades to cast long distorted shadows across the pale ceiling. Shun's thumb absently massaged circles into the knuckle of Haruto's as he spoke, voice low and somber as he and Chris discussed details of what they intended to do. Mizael spoke occasionally, offering explanation or adding on to something Chris had said, but remained silent for the most part. The hour grew late, something that Shun realized with a jolt.

"Shit, what time is it? I need to get back to the Underground, I have a duel scheduled for tonight," Shun said, releasing Haruto's hand and standing quickly. "I'm already on the outs with my manager as it is."

"Hold on a moment, I have something for you," Chris said, moving to retrieve something from one of the rooms down the hall. He returned with a small device resting in the palm of his hand, which he held out to Shun. "This is one of the comm units we've been using. It's a closed connection. Well it was, back in Heartland; I have yet to recalibrate it for the radio waves in this area, but you'll know when I get around to that."

"Thank you," Shun said, almost reverently as he took the device and turned it over in his hands, as though he couldn't believe his good fortune. "How do I...?'

"It'll pick up anything you say, but you won't be able to change frequencies, so you're stuck to the one channel. It goes in your ear," Chris explained, tapping behind his own ear. "I'll drive you back."

Shun fidgeted with the comm unit, adjusting it so it fit snugly. Haruto watched absently as Chris pulled on his coat and retrieved the keys, the warmth of the set sun and that of Shun's hadn in his own having lulled him into a daze. He flexed his fingers, noting how they felt oddly emtpy.

"Haruto, I'm leaving now," Shun said sofly, leaning over the back of the couch. He looked handsome upside down too, Haruto decided, the logical side of his mind still suppressed by his hazy mood. Haruto reached up and patted Shun's cheek, grinning as he did so.

"Chris, don't kill Shun with your crazy driving. I like him too much for that," Haruto said, dropping his hand and closing his eyes. Had he kept them open, he would have seen Shun's eyes widen at the use of his first name, would have seen the smile that spread across his lips. But he didn't, having slipped back into the light nap that had overcome him earlier.

"Goodnight, Haruto."

 

✥

 

Haruto awoke to find his head resting in Mizael's lap, his hand stroking Haruto's hair with his attention dedicated to the book he held in front of him. He looked down as Haruto groaned in frustration.

"I fell asleep again," Haruto said, pouting.

"That's good, you'll heal faster," Mizael replied.

"But now I don't want to move."

"No one's making you move."

"But then you'll be stuck acting as my pillow forever."

"It'd still be more interesting than some of the other jobs I've done," Mizael joked, letting his book close with his thumb stuck between the pages to keep his place.

"Is diplomacy really that boring?" Haruto prodded, grinning.

"Conferring with Eliphas is really that boring," Mizael clarified, returning the grin with a smile of his own. "I think I could tolerate being a pillow for a few years after dealing with that."

Haruto snorted, covering his mouth with his hand at the sound. Mizael checked the page in his book once more before leaning over to place the book on the coffee table, squishing Haruto's head as he did so.

"You're suffocating me," Haruto complained, his voice muffled by Mizael's shirt. Mizael leaned back and looked down at him, brow raised as he ruffled Haruto's hair and made a mess of it. His hand stilled, and Mizael's expression hardened into something more serious. Haruto likewise frowned in concern. "Mizael? What's up?"

"You like him, don't you?" Mizael asked. Haruto blinked, and his faced heated rapidly as he realizes who Mizael was talking about.

"I—w-what are...how did you...?" Haruto stammered, eliciting a chuckle from Mizael.

"It may come as a surprise to you, but I have some experience with courting and the behavior that comes with it. And you, Haruto, are an open book with your emotions," Mizael said, tapping Haruto's forehead with a finger. Haruto stared at Mizael for a long moment.

"I like him," he admitted quietly. His stomach churned with butterflies and he resisted the urge to hide his face in his hands. Mizael's lips were turned up in a placid smile, his eyes sad as he stroked the bangs away from Haruto's forehead.

"Of all the times you choose to fall in love," Mizael said, sighing. "Thank goodness you chose someone with a penchant for staying alive. We'll just have to hope it stays that way."

Haruto signed as well, his heart heavy, resigned to the fact that this could easily end in tragedy. It was just the way things were now. Byron's death acted as a blantant reminder that none of them were safe, that there was no guarantee that the'yd all get through the day. And even though Mizael seemed indestructible, he was only this way because he had  _already_ died. Twice. Turning his head, Haruto pressed his face into Mizael's stomach and wrapped his arms around his waist in an awkward hug. Tears stung his eyes, and he let them fall unbidden this time, soaking into the fabric of Mizael's shirt as his shoulders shook.

"Oh, Haruto," Mizael said, pulling Haruto up into a proper embrace. Haruto's sobs filled the otherwise silent living room as Mizael rocked him gently, cheek pressed to the top of Haruto's head. "Do not fear  _xiao long_ , it will be okay."

Haruto hiccuped as his crying slowly eased, his eyes sore from the tears. He pulled away and wiped at them, laughing lightly in embarassment as he hiccuped again.

"I-I'm sorry, I think I'm just...just a little unsteady right now," Haruto said shakily.

"There's no need to apologize Haruto, a lot has happened in these past few days that we are all going to need to come to terms with," Mizael replied, catching a stray tear with his thumb. "But I assure you, so long as I live, I will do everything in my power to let no harm come to you.''

With a sigh, Haruto pulled away, scrubbing at his face, offering Mizael a shaky _thank-you_ before he stood, adjusting his coat from where it had twisted about him uncomfortably.

It was then that his hand landed on his hip and he noticed the absence of something that should be there. Haruto’s face grew pale and his heart leapt to his throat.

“Haruto?” Mizael said in concern. 

Haruto didn’t answer, already digging through his pockets and patting down his sides frantically, muttering a mantra of “No, no, no,  _ no, no–” _

“Haruto!” 

He stopped and looked up at Mizael with a stricken expression.

“Mizael, my deck. It’s _gone._ ”


	14. Unearthed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which allegiance becomes obscure._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I TOLD YOU I'D CONTINUE THIS DIDN'T I

They had been halfway to the Underground Arena when Chris got the call.

“He what?”

“ _Haruto’s deck has gone missing.”_ Mizael reiterated. _“He thinks it was pick-pocketed by a child in the marketplace we met in this morning._ ”

“Shit.” Chris’ grip on the steering wheel tightened, knuckles pressing white to his skin.

“What’s the matter?” Shun asked from his seat in the passenger side. Chris’ lips pressed together in a thin line as he considered whether to tell Shun or not.

“ _Haruto wants Kurosaki to know in case he sees anything suspicious that could help,_ ” Mizael provided. It was times like this when he wondered if reading minds wasn’t one of Mizael’s powers and the man was just withholding that from them. Chris sighed, and pressed a button on the dashboard, switching the call from private to open call.

“Haruto’s deck is missing,” Chris told Shun. “Says he thought it got filched by some kids in the market where we found you two. Any ideas?”

Shun’s mouth dropped open in shock, then he grit his teeth and swore. “Yeah, there was some kids that came running through causing a ruckus. One of them knocked Haruto off of the stool he’d been sitting on – they must have grabbed it then.”

“ _I suppose you wouldn’t remember anything about them,_ ” Mizael’s voice commented from the dash.

“There were three of them; two boys, one girl. The girl had red hair in two braids. She’s the one who knocked Haruto off his stool. That’s as much as I can remember.”

“Better than nothing,” Chris said, looking over his shoulder as he changed lanes.

“ _We’ll have to go look once you’re back Christopher.”_

“Wait,” Shun interjected. “Take me along with you.”

Chris raised a brow. “I thought you were on the outs with your manager?”

“He’s only my temporary manager – won’t be much of a loss if he dumps me. Besides this duel was a rematch. The guy was bound to lose.”

“Well, if you put it that way. Hold on.” That was Shun’s only warning before Chris slammed his foot on the break and yanked on the wheel. The car turned with a loud screeching of tires, and with a rev of the engine, they were speeding back the way they came, Shun’s grip on the doorside armrest decidedly tighter than it was before.

✥

After forty minutes of sitting on the stoop in the night-darkened street, pretending to be asleep, Mizael pressed a finger to the communicator in his ear.

“Is this _really_ the best idea we’ve got?” he asked. Chris’ low laughter was static-filled over the poor connection, but a welcome sound nonetheless.

“ _Yes, unfortunately. To find who pickpocketed Haruto we need to find the pickpockets.”_

“I don’t see why _I_ need to be the bait.” Mizael glanced at the ‘deck’ that sat on the stoop beside him; a collection of loose, mostly useless cards that Takeru had sitting around his apartment; they were free, courtesy of the City. This is the only use they’d really be put to.

“ _They’d recognize Haruto and Kurosaki._ ”

“What about you? You’re a capable young man with working legs.”

“ _Honestly, between you and I, I have more faith in you having the stamina to keep up with a child who has something to lose.”_

Mizael scoffed at that, and Chris laughed again. It was nice. Absently, as he settled down to ‘sleep’ once more, he wished he could hear it more often.

It was only another ten-or-so minutes when Mizael heard a scuffling sound nearby. He didn’t move, keeping his breathing steady as he felt someone approach. In the darkness, whoever it was wouldn’t be able to tell that Mizael had his eyes open and was watching them carefully.

A little girl, her red hair messily gathered into two plaits, quietly picked up the deck that Mizael had placed next to him. The girl Shun had described earlier.

She backed up quietly for a few steps before breaking into a run. Mizael was immediately on his feet, jamming his finger to the communicator as he chased after her.

“I’m in pursuit,” he said, propelling himself off a wall as the girl took a particularly sharp turn down a narrow alley. She wove between garbage cans and trash; Mizael vaulted himself over it, letting his momentum carry him silently over the debris.

The girl knew she was being chased, but he could tell she didn’t know what by.

“ _I’ve got you on radar, we’re right behind you.”_

The chase took him farther than he’d expected, as the girl wove from one alleyway to the next, undoubtedly trying to shake him from her trail. It didn’t work.

Mizael slowed as the child darted down a flight of stairs leading to the entrance of what appeared to be a subterranean factory. He could feel the Numbers now, its angry buzzing electrifying the air as it became aware of his presence. Undoubtedly it preferred a host that was weak enough for it to influence easily; the chances of it returning to Haruto without a fight was unlikely.

The distant sound of footsteps grew louder, and Mizael turned to see the others running toward him at a much slower pace than he himself moved with. It would almost be laughable if it weren't a blatant, uncomfortable reminder of how weak and vulnerable humans could be. He shifted his weight to his other leg impatiently.

“She went down here,” Mizael said as they drew close enough to hear.

“Is it in there?” Haruto asked, peering down into the darkness. Mizael nodded and began making his way down the stairwell. A narrow, ill-lit hall connected to the base of the stairs, grey cinder blocks cold and wet to Mizael’s touch. The passage grew dim as they went, the feeble daylight fading behind as they blindly made their way through the dark. Under any other circumstances, Mizael wouldn’t hesitate to summon a light for them to see by. But Kurosaki Shun was with them, and Haruto had told Mizael that he was one of the few survivors to retain memory of the Varians’ fruitless incursion years ago. With their poor luck, Shun would learn the truth sooner or later, but Mizael wasn’t one to be careless.

In the little light that remained, Mizael could make out a mass ahead of them. Reaching behind him, he gripped Chris’ arm, causing him to slow to a halt.

“Hold on.” Mizael reached ahead, his hand connecting with what felt like a wooden board. He could feel a draft by his feet, and he kneeled, feeling a short hole near the floor. A boarded up doorway, then. Stepping back, Mizael spun, his leg snapping out. The wood splintered beneath his foot with a loud crack, the broken boards sent clattering into the dark beyond, the sound ricocheting throughout the room.

“There goes our cover,” Shun hissed from behind him.

“It already knows we are here,” Mizael replied, not bothering to lower his voice as he stepped into the room. A loud groan of metal broke through the quiet; a crack, and then a humming as a bright light flared from above, temporarily blinding them in its brilliance. The light eased, and they were able to get a look at their surroundings. Cast off items littered the place, garbage if it weren’t for their unused state among their decay. Great metal chutes were inlaid into the floor, dropping down into a pitch blackness, the metal grates covering them rusted and of questionable stability. Above them twisted a great network of scaffolding and metal catwalks, and from one of these walkways a man stared down at them.

“Well, well, look who we have here! _Welcome,_ gentlemen. I dare say you’ve found yourself in good company.” The man was older; short, thin, and dressed to the nines in a patchwork of cast off clothes whose faded patterns suggested a former elegance. A shock of silvery hair stood from his head in uneven patches, a scraggly goatee on his chin to match. Beside him stood the street urchin who had stolen Haruto’s deck. The man patted her head appreciatively, and she smiled a toothy smile.

“Who are you?” Chris demanded.

“I am known simply as the Cornerman,” the man replied with a yellow-toothed smile of his own. “And you, gentleman, have happened upon my court. Now, mind if I ask why you’re here?”

“Your friend there stole something of ours that we need back,” Chris stated, gesturing to the girl.

“I have trouble believing little Ilya would do anything of the sort.”

“If you won’t give it over—” Mizael stepped forward as Chris spoke, freeing the _guan dao_ from where it had been strapped to his back, “—then we have no choice but to take it from you.”

The Cornerman grimaced, the held his hand out to the girl, beckoning, his voice dropping from the lighthearted cadence to something gruff. “Ilya, give it here.”

She hesitated for a moment, anxiously glancing between the Cornerman and the blade of Mizael’s weapon before quickly pulling both Haruto’s deck box and the fake she’d just stolen from Mizael from her satchel and placing it in the Cornerman’s hand.

“Well, it looks like Ilya did find something, eh?” He offered with a nervous chuckle. “I’ll just toss it down to you and we can both be on our… merry way...”

The Cornerman’s speech faded into mumbling, and then into silence as he stared at the deck resting in his hand. Methodically, he opened the deck box, plucking one card from it with sureness. With a startling suddenness, Mizael launched himself at the man, blade flashing as the polearm struck at where the Cornerman stood. There was a sudden flash of light, and Mizael was thrown back by the impact of energy. He landed on his feet, knees bent as he slid back on the metal floor a few feet before straightening. The Cornerman erupted into laughter, the sound high and manic. A sickly aura surrounded him, the pale green familiar enough to pinpoint the cause. The child, Ilya, stood frozen in wide eyed in terror. The Cornerman turned to her; his menacing expression seemed to break her from her paralysis. She shrieked and ran away, disappearing down one of the many hallways the metal catwalks led to.

“On second thought—” the Cornerman turned to them slowly, a crooked grin distorting his features “—I think I’d rather keep this.”

Mizael snarled, starting forward again only to be stopped by Chris’s hand falling heavy onto his shoulder.

“Oh! But it would be rude of me to let you leave without a little entertainment, now wouldn’t it?” The Cornerman laughed again. “I am, after all, your gracious host for the evening. How about it, gentlemen? Let’s play a game!”

The sickly aura flared, and from the tattered fabrics of his sleeve there formed a duel-disk, ragtag and patchwork as the rest of him. With a flourish, he stepped onto the rail of the catwalk and dropped, landing heavily on the floor across from them.

“Haruto, Kurosaki. Stand back, we’ll take care of this,” Chris ordered as he pulled his duel gauntlet from his bag and quickly strapped it on. Haruto was already obediently backing up out of the way when Shun spoke:

“No.”

Chris frowned. “Kuro—”

“Numbers can only defeat Numbers, I know,” Shun interrupted. “I don’t have a Numbers but it doesn’t mean I can’t help in this duel.”

Chris’ brow stayed furrowed, but he said nothing as he returned his attention to where the Cornerman stood.

Mizael’s disk appeared on his arm with the usual flare, manifesting itself and wrapping around his arm in a flash of light. From his vantage off to the side, Haruto saw Shun stiffen at the unexplained sight. He’d have to think of some fake explanation to give him later.

“Well, if you’ve got your players all sorted out, I believe it’s game time!” the Cornerman announced.

Shun, Mizael, and Chris all took up their stances, and a chorus of four voices announced game-start:

“ _Duel!_ ”

The Cornerman grinned. “My turn! First, I’ll summon two _Primitive Larvae_ in defense mode! Then I’ll put three cards face down and end my turn.”

Chris drew without announcement, indicating he was taking the next turn. He gave his cards a brief glance before discarding one. “By sending one machine-type card to my graveyard, I can special summon _Deep-Space Cruiser IX_ to the field.”

The spaceship appeared in a flash of light, holograms displaying its level and attack. The Cornerman’s eye twitched, a nervous tell. If Chris were the type for self-satisfied grins, he might be wearing one now, but his features remained impassive as always.

“Next, I standard summon _Planet Pathfinder_ to the field. Joining it is _Solar Wind Jammer_ , which I can special summon by halving its attack.”

The two machine-type monsters had barely dimmed from their summoning glow before Chris pulled another card from his hand and placed it on his disk.

“From my hand I play the spell card _Tannhauser Gate._ This card allows me to take two summoned monsters and raise their levels to that of the equivalent of their combined levels, making them both level nine! With level-nine _Deep-Space Cruiser IX_ and level-nine _Solar Wind Jammer_ I construct the overlay network!”

The monsters dissolved into light before plunging into the swirling vortex that opened on the floor beneath.

“Appear, _Numbers 9_! My burdensome fate, let the gigantic world capable of swallowing an entire galaxy descend right here and now. _Canopy Star – Dyson Sphere_!”

The overlay network burst into a pillar of gold, only to reveal nothing. The Cornerman made an “ _eh!?_ ” sound of confusion.

“Where is it?” He said, looking all about in an attempt to spot the hidden monster.

“It’ll show itself in time,” Chris said. Apparently he _wasn’t_ above smug smirks, after all. “I place two cards face down and end my turn.”

“Whatever, it’s my turn again. Draw!” The Cornerman looked at whatever card he’d drawn before placing it in his hand in favor of another. “Now that one turn has passed, I can activate _Primitive Larvae’s_ effect!”

Primitive Larvae began to transform, cocooning themselves in silky string. A light glowed from inside, as the silhouette of the Primitive Larvae began to shift and form.

“ _Primitive Larvae’s_ effect is called metamorphosis,” Haruto supplied from the sidelines. “It transforms from _Primitive Larvae_ into _Primitive Butterfly_ and gains a level for each turn it’s been on the battlefield before transformation. So they will be level-six _Primitive Butterfly._ ”

“Great,” Mizael groused as the Primitive Butterflies burst from their cocoons. The Cornerman let out another manic laugh.

“ _Primitive Butterfly’s_ effect activates, raising both of them to level-seven! And you know what that means!”

“Here it comes,” Chris mumbled under his breath. Beside him, Mizael said something in Chinese. Chris suspected it was a swear.

The Primitive Butterflies disappeared into the newly-formed overlay network without ceremony. The Cornerman clapped his hands together, a grotesque smile on his face as he recited the chant from between yellowed teeth.

"Noble herald of the dusk, come forth and guide us toward the fading light! Descend! Rank-7; _No. 28, Titanic Moth_!"

A burst of light, the flutter of gigantic wings. Titanic Moth rose above them; a behemoth in every sense except for it’s size in comparison to the currently-hidden Dyson Sphere. The number ‘28’ carved itself into the Cornerman’s cheek, pale green and glowing in it’s alien script.

“Now, _Titanic Moth_ , go! Attack—”

“I activate my trap card, _Soft Reboot!_ ” Chris’ hand shot out as his face-down card revealed itself. “This card negates your attack and forces the end of your turn!”

The Cornerman frowned and swayed unevenly on his feet. Above, Titanic Moth beat its wings in frustration.

“I was wondering when you’d reveal yourself. You should know better than controlling random bystanders,” Mizael said, addressing the Number. Titanic Moth let out a screech in response. Mizael made a disapproving _tsk_ under his breath. “So be it. My turn! Draw!”

He didn’t even look at the card he had drawn before placing it in his hand and choosing another.

“Because _Titanic Moth_ has an attack of 2800, I can special summon _Schwarzschild, the Limit Dragon_ from my hand. Next, I play the spell card _Ergosphere_ ; if _Schwarzchild_ is summoned, I can add another copy of _Schwarzchild_ from my deck to my hand.” He gracefully plucked the card as his disk ejected it from the deck slot and bypassed his hand to play the card immediately. “I overlay the two _Schwarzchild_ to construct the network and summon Rank 8; No. 107! Roar throughout the entire universe. Revive, from the source of all galaxies, that flows from far back in time!! Manifest yourself, and lead me to victory! _Galaxy-Eyes Tachyon Dragon!_ "

Tachyon’s roar shook the walls as she appeared. Haruto had always thought that something Tachyon’s summoning seemed more violent than the rest, as though there was more force to the explosion of light that she emerged from. Mizael had once told him that Tachyon was an incredibly difficult creature, and that he had to constantly battle her to keep her in check. Haruto didn’t have much difficulty believing that.

“Go, Tachyon! Attack _Titanic Moth_!”

“I activate _Primitive Larvae’s_ second effect from the Graveyard!” The Cornerman shouted as Tachyon’s attack charged. “If I have more than one _Primitive Larvae_ in the Graveyard, I can banish them and pay 1000 life points to negate your attack!”

Tachyon’s Destruction Spiral hit Titanic Moth. The ensuing explosion was loud, a large plume of dust rising in the air as the building shook, but as the debris cleared it was clear that Titanic Moth still stood, unscathed. The Cornerman swayed again as his life points dropped to 3000.

“The Numbers is protecting itself,” Mizael said. Chris nodded, then looked at Shun.

“Kurosaki, stay on your guard,” he warned. “Numbers are unpredictable, but this one in particular is.”

Shun nodded, and shifted his stance as the Cornerman drew for his next turn. He understood now that the ragtag man they were facing wasn’t their opponent in this duel; it was the Numbers itself. The Cornerman was merely a puppet.

“Using Titanic Moth’s effect, I can attack you directly. Let’s see, who to choose~” the Cornerman tapped his chin as though thinking, but Titanic Moth was already moving, it’s great wings beating up a storm of green fire.

“Ah. You.” The Cornerman pointed at Shun. No, not at Shun; he was pointing over Shun’s shoulder, at–

“ _Haruto!!_ ” Mizael’s cry was lost beneath the roar of the incoming flames. Shun could feel their heat, tell that they were no hologram. His feet were moving before he could think, sprinting to where Haruto stood, frozen in place, wide eyes reflecting the green fire.

Shun tackled Haruto. They went down hard, fire roaring above as they slid. Haruto stilled, but Shun kept tumbling, his momentum carrying him across the floor.

His heart stopped as he felt the ground fall from beneath him. For one perfect moment, he hung suspended as the mouth of the garbage chute yawned wide below.

Then he began to fall.

“ _Shun!_ ”

He barely heard Haruto’s voice above the sound of wind in his ears. He thrashed, trying to find a handhold, to stop the spinning, _anything–_

His plummet stopped abruptly, his shoulder protesting as it was jerked suddenly, a tight grip around his wrist. He groaned at the throbbing; his shoulder burned, but it was better than meeting a grisly end at the bottom he supposed. But who…?

Shun looked up to be met with the cold stare of Mizael. The eyes were the first thing he noticed, the usual dark blue having lightened into something akin to steel. The golden aura was the second thing he noticed, Mizael’s short hair tousled as the energy lifted and played with it.

The arm was the third thing Shun noticed. The flesh of Mizael’s arm stopped halfway to the elbow, skin dissolving into living rock of an unnatural ochre. Large gashes in the wall cut into a straight line leading to where Mizael’s fingers were embedded in the metal, gripping up to the knuckle to stop their fall. Mizael’s teeth were gritted from the strain, jaw locked and face twisted in intense discomfort. Shun’s pulse quickened as hot anger flared in his chest, lips curling into a snarl as, from the dredges of his memory, he realized who – or rather _what –_ he was faced with.

“I _knew_ there was something about you I didn’t like,” Shun snapped. “So now you choose to show your true self, _Varian_.”

He spat the word like a curse, with all the disgust that could possibly lace his tone. In his mind’s eye he could see the devastation from that night as though it happened yesterday—the night the sky turned red and stone lotuses towered like sepulchures for those who had been lost. Shun felt Mizael stiffen.

The Varian let out a deep, annoyed sigh, cold eyes glaring down at Shun as though he were a petulant child. “Kurosaki, save the sermon for when we aren’t hanging above a hole that is who-knows-how-deep,” he said, returning his attention to the sounds of battle above.

“And if I don’t, what are you going to do? Drop me?”

“I don’t think Haruto would be very happy with me if I did that,” Mizael spoke between clenched teeth, “but it’d be in your best interest _not_ to tempt me.”

“Does Haruto know?” Shun asked in disbelief.

“Of _course_ Haruto knows,” Mizael snapped. “They _all_ know. Now do me a favor and shut up while I try to figure out how to get us out of this because I doubt Tachyon’s going to do a damn thing to help.”

As though summoned, Shun saw the machine dragon’s head appear over the lip of the chute, eyes twinkling in amusement as she stared down at them. Mizael shouted something up to her, speaking a bizarre foreign tongue that sounded wrong coming from a human’s mouth and made Shun want to cover his ears. The dragon merely snorted, and vanished the way she came.

“Ungrateful _brat_ ,” Mizael growled. He looked down at Shun, eyes calculative. Shun felt his hands grow clammy at the look as he realized how easy it would be for Mizael to simply drop him and climb back up. “Kurosaki, I’m going to need your help.”

“ _What?_ ” he snapped.

“I need you to summon a card for me. I shoved my hand into the side of my boot before coming after you. There’s two cards in there that can be used as materials for an Xyz summon.” Mizael bent his leg, bringing the lip of his shoe into Shun’s view, the cards stacked and pressed against Mizael’s calf. “The first is the Half Moon Dragon Radius. Special summon that, and then use its effect to summon the Interstellar Dragon Parsec.”

Shun frowned, then nodded. Not like he wanted to help Mizael in any capacity, but he also wasn’t too keen on falling to his death, and couldn’t summon his own monsters in the position he currently was in. Carefully, he pulled the cards out one at a time, replacing them until he came across the first card he needed. Blindly, he smacked that onto the duel disk that rested on the arm Mizael held him up with. On the rooftop above, Shun heard a distant exclamation accompanied by a slight glimmer of light.

“It summoned. Now do the other one,” Mizael said.

“How is summoning this card supposed to help us?” Shun asked, pulling the other card out. “Unless your disk has Solid Vision with Mass, it’s not going to—”

“Just summon the card!”

Shun slapped the card onto the disk, and Mizael let out a harsh breath.

“I sacrifice level eight Radius and level eight Parsec to construct the overlay network! Appear, _Numbers 46!_ Manifest yourself and help us before my goddamn arm falls off!”

Shun’s eyes widened as Mizael’s duel disk glowed, the two cards lifting themselves from the face and merging in a brilliant flash of light. Thunder rang from the roof above, and a great golden dragon appeared, soaring through the sky and diving toward them. There was no warning before Mizael released his grip in the wall and they plummeted downward, a silent scream lacing Shun’s lips as gravity took its toll. The air was knocked out of him as his back impacted with something firm, his balance pitching again as he began to slide off. A hand on his shoulder steadied him, ochre claws digging into the cloth of his coat. Shun shuddered and swatted Mizael’s hand away, carefully turning over and straddling the dragon’s back as it carried them upwards.

 _“You should be more careful,”_ Jinlon chided as they soared above the factory floor where the battle was being waged.

 _“I wasn’t the one to get thrown down a chute,”_ Mizael objected, suppressing a groan as he rotated his aching arm. It was nearly numb, and he massaged at the joint of his shoulder to bring feeling back into it. He looked over his shoulder to see if Shun was still there; he was, and he gave Mizael a petulant glare before looking away. Mizael looked down just in time to see Chris finish the duel, Dyson Sphere’s attack blowing a hole through the ceiling and passing them as it struck Titanic Moth down, shattering the hologram and throwing the Cornerman back as his life points dropped to zero.  Mizael breathed a sigh of relief.

“ _Oh, look, you didn’t die. That’s fortunate,”_ Tachyon commented to Mizael as they landed, blatantly sarcastic. Mizael ignored her as he slid from Jinlon’s back and crossed to where the Cornerman lay sprawled. Haruto was already there, hovering uncertainly. He hadn’t made to gather the cards scattered across the floor.

 _“Speak with courtesy to your elders, fledgling,”_ Jinlon snapped irritably at Tachyon. _“Your insolence nearly got someone killed.”_

 _“He is not my elder,”_ she protested. _“He is no dragon. A_ true _dragon would never forget his heritance.”_

_“That you speak such merely serves to show your ignorance.”_

_“Tachyon, the battle is over. You are dismissed,”_ Mizael said. He saw Haruto grimace slightly and shot him an apologetic look. He knew how uncomfortable it was for humans to listen to draconic speech if they weren’t used to it.

Tachyon hissed in annoyance, but obeyed, breaking into a million violet, violent sparks that flew to his duel disk. His deck reshuffled itself; only Dragulon, Jinlon’s card, remained on active field.

Haruto stepped back as Mizael kneeled and collected the cards. He didn’t want to touch them, considering that Titanic Moth just made a pretty impressive effort to kill him. Haruto knew the Numbers wasn’t all that fond of him as a master, but he didn’t realize it had hated him _that_ much.

Haruto looked around when he realized he didn’t see Shun.

“Mizael, where’s–” his question cut short when he spotted Shun, who was walking briskly to the doorway they’d entered from earlier. His brow furrowed, and he broke into a run to catch up to Shun’s retreating form. “Shu– Kurosaki, wait!”

Shun did not stop walking, but did slow his pace at Haruto’s call. Haruto caught up to him and circled around to look at Shun’s face.

He didn’t know what to expect, but he certainly didn’t expect for Shun to be _pissed._

“You _knew_ ,” Shun snapped.

“Shun, what are you–”

“Get out of my way.” Shun didn’t push him aside, but he very well could have with how scathing his glare was as he passed. Haruto watched him walk into the darkness of the hall beyond the doorway, too shocked to feel much of anything, still trying to understand what just happened.

That numbness followed him as he walked back to where Mizael, Chris, and Jinlon waited. As Haruto drew close, he saw his deck resting in Mizael’s hand. Mizael’s ochre yellow, stone-skinned, decidedly-not-human hand.

“Oh,” he said aloud, as realization washed over him. “Oh.”

It was all he could really say.

Of course Shun would be furious to discover Mizael was a Varian. Shun, one of the few people who _remembered_ the Varian invasion; Shun who had told Haruto of how he’d begun to take dueling seriously to be able to fight the Varians and protect Heartland had they ever returned.

And Haruto, who he’d trusted to tell that to and who had betrayed that trust.

“Haruto.” He looked up as he felt Mizael’s other hand – the flesh one – rest gently on his shoulder. Mizael’s lips were pressed together as he looked down at Haruto in distraught. “I’m sorry, Haruto. I truly am.”

Haruto looked down at the floor for a moment, quiet. Then he reached forward and wrapped his arms around Mizael’s torso, pulling him into a fierce embrace.

“It’s not your fault,” he said fervidly, words muffled by the canvas of Mizael’s jacket. “It’s _not._ ”

Haruto felt hot breath ruffle his hair as Jinlon nuzzled him gently before he too disappeared into Mizael’s deck, unable to sustain his form in this Dimension for long outside of a battle. When Haurto pulled away, Mizael had already dismissed the duel disk; the yellow arm, however, still stayed.

“It’ll go away soon enough,” Mizael reassured. He looked down at Haruto’s deck before quickly shuffling through it. He picked a card from it – Titanic Moth – and tucked it into the pocket of his jacket before holding the deck out to Haruto. “Considering what just happened, I think I should hold onto it for a little while.”

“Yeah,” Haruto agreed bitterly as he took back his deck. “Considering it just tried to kill me.”

Mizael shot him another sympathetic look, but Haruto didn’t see it, his eyes having wandered back to where he’d watched Shun leave moments ago. He wondered if he’d ever see the other boy again. Somewhere deep in his heart, he knew it was probably for the best for whatever they had to end before it started, before a real tragedy could strike. But Haruto was young, and young hearts break easily. No amount of intelligence would be able to reconcile that, no matter how he would continue to argue with himself about it for days to come.

“Come on,” Chris said, his presence at Haruto’s side breaking him from his melancholy reverie. “Let’s go back.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm uncertain about how this chapter turned out honestly. Writing duels is difficult; I'm positive they break the rules more than once but eh, it is what it is.
> 
> Completely unrelated, I went back and read the first few chapters of this fic and I'm kicking myself for killing Byron because he had some of the best lines in the whole story.


	15. Interlude Act II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri is an ass and is as always a delight to write.  
> Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate it.
> 
> Kudos or comments are what really get me motivated!

Heartland was gone.

It was information that Kaito was undoubtedly not intended to hear, but with how it was all the Academy seemed to speak of recently, it was ridiculous to think that the news would somehow not manage to reach him, even confined in near-isolation as he was.

Yuuri, for his part, expected for Kaito’s reaction to be far more exciting than it turned out to be. Gone was the fire that he’d spat over Haruto, gone was the passion and the rage that Yuuri once thought would be Academia’s undoing. Instead, Kaito became a hollow shell of himself, withdrawn and unresponsive – a living corpse in every sense of the word. He had the intention of becoming an actual corpse, it seemed, with every meal that was sent to him brought back untouched.

It was clear that the Professor knew he had miscalculated – Kaito was not _necessary_ as he once was, relatively, but as it stood he was still the person who understood the carding technology better than anyone else and it would be preferable to keep him alive. But with Kaito’s brother presumably dead, along with much of the rest of Heartland, Kaito had lost any and all will to live.

Yuuri couldn’t imagine hinging his entire being so heavily on another person. Maybe that’s why it bothered him so much.

Yes, that had to be the reason.

But Yuuri wasn’t someone who needlessly fretted. It was a waste of energy as much as it was of time. So Yuuri began looking for solutions.

The solution presented itself in the form of an angry, seething spitfire they’d captured from Heartland. Ruri Kurosaki.

Yuuri didn’t know why the Professor wanted Ruri – Yuuri followed orders and offered suggestions but never asked questions. He didn’t care enough to. It’s why he was the Professor’s favorite, after all. What Yuuri _did_ know was that Ruri was a younger sister. And Kaito was, of course, and older brother. It seemed an obvious answer to plant Ruri in Kaito’s cell as a surrogate, to force Kaito’s protective instincts to latch onto another source.

To give him a reason to live, essentially.

The Professor seemed skeptical at the suggestion at first. Yuuri knew he would be. He also knew that in a few days, the Professor would order for Ruri to be brought to the wing that Kaito was kept in. Yuuri always knew when he was right.

The order arrived two days after – Yuuri, unsurprisingly, assigned to escort Ruri Kurosaki to the west wing. He was, after all, the one to capture Ruri. Apparently that deigned her to be his responsibility.

None of this was surprising; what _was_ a surprise was that, upon him arriving at Ruri Kurosaki’s cell, someone was already there. Dennis Macfield, specifically.

“Ruri, please, if you would just _listen_ to me–” Dennis’s words were cut short at the sound of something loud hitting the door from the other side. Dennis flinched back at the impact, and Yuuri did little to hide his snicker. The black glare that Dennis gave him made it even sweeter.

“Not such a ladies man after all, are we Macfield?” Yuuri teased.

“You–”

“Don’t worry,” Yuuri interrupted, “I won’t tell the Professor you were here. But you’ll owe me one now.”

Dennis scoffed, but slinked off quietly, reminding Yuuri of a kicked weasel. Yuuri loved it when people owed him things. It made them so easy to manipulate.

Besides, Yuuri would go so far as to say he liked Macfield. The lanky redhead was interesting – one of the first entrees into Academia’s program, and one of the few who hadn’t died in those early years of necessary trial-and-error. A captain by rank, but still insisted on operating primarily in covert, one-man missions. A street rat who had little to lose and an empty stomach who had been willing to take whatever he was given. Not that Macfield was aware that Yuuri knew all of this, of course. Macfield’s personal file was very thorough.

Yuuri rapped his knuckles against the door lightly. From inside, Ruri’s voice rose in anger.

“I told you Dennis, you can take your words and shove them up your–!”

Yuuri pressed the keypad, and the door opened, flooding the small room beyond with light. Ruri’s words cut short and Yuuri watched in satisfied amusement as Ruri’s face turned bright red when she realized that he was indeed, not Dennis Macfield.

“Ruri Kurosaki, you’ve been reassigned to a different holding. If you’ll come with me quietly, we shouldn’t have any problems,” he said. His smile only grew as Ruri’s embarrassment turned to anger. She looked down at her handcuffs, as though contemplating how difficult it may be to break free from them, before seemingly coming to the logical conclusion that it would be a fruitless endeavor and instead settling to angrily stomp out of the cell and refuse to acknowledge Yuuri’s existence at all. Yuuri was fine with this.

They walked through the halls of Academia in silence, the clean clicking of Yuuri’s shoes against the floor a stark contrast to the heavy shuffling of Ruri’s combat boots. The tall doors of the west wing rose at the end of the hall. Ruri’s angered expression became increasingly confused as they drew closer. At one point, there were guards stationed before these doors, but with Kaito’s recent behavior, it was deemed no longer necessary. It wasn’t as though he had a reason to escape anymore. Yuuri tapped in the passcode and let the system scan his thumbprint. With a hiss, the doors opened, revealing the low-lit space of the lab. Ruri took a few cautious steps, looking around the space. Yuuri waited until she was well within the room before speaking.

“Enjoy your new roommate,” he said, and delighted in Ruri’s confused, frightened expression as she turned to look at him before the doors slid shut and locked once more.

✥

The light on Ruri’s cuffs blinked, and she startled as they suddenly released and fell from her wrists. Rubbing at the red marks left behind, she scowled and was about to kick them across the room before she recalled Yuuri’s words.

Roommate.

This was Academia. Ruri couldn’t imagine that they’d placed her with someone with anything besides the intention of it being for the purpose of torture. Carefully, she bent and picked up the cuffs, feeling the heavy weight of the metal in her hands. It was one of the box-shaped ones, completely unnecessary in their size. Ruri tested their heft before deciding that she could possibly knock whoever it was out with these if she didn’t find something better to use as a weapon.

With the cuffs in her hands and shoulders set, prepared to throw, Ruri carefully snuck her way around the room, eyes squinted as she searched for any other signs of life in the low light. As she rounded the circular console that took up the center of the room, Ruri began to wonder if there really was anyone here or if Yuuri had just said that to mess with her head.

Then, she saw him.

He wasn’t the hulking, brutish man her mind had conjured. He was practically a skeleton, slumped against a wall in the corner. Unmoving. Pale as death.

Bile rose in Ruri’s throat as she realized with horror that they had locked her in a room with corpse.

The scream of shock came after the realization. Ruri fled back to the door, pounding against it with her fists as she tried to escape. The cuffs clanged as she threw them against the metal. A lone office chair followed after, the base breaking as she swung it against the door. It ricocheted, and she gasped as pain shot up her wrist. The chair clattered to the floor, the broken wheels bouncing across the floor to disappear further into the room. Ruri clutched her hand and fell to her knees, unable to suppress the tears that spring to her eyes any longer. She curled over her aching hand, shoulders shaking as she wept.

Then she heard it; the sound of careful footsteps. A voice.

“Are you alright?”

With a gasp, she looked up and over her shoulder to see the man whom she presumed was dead standing behind her. He wasn’t quite facing her, hand outreached as though he were trying to comfort her, but it was too far to her left to be right. Her boots scuffed across the floor as she scrambled to her feet. The man paused, then dropped his hand and adjusted himself, this time facing her properly.

 _He’s blind,_ she realized. He wasn’t much taller than her, with dull steel eyes and hollowed cheeks that spoke of hunger and exhaustion. Ruri thought he looked familiar, but she couldn’t quite recall why.

“Who are you?” she demanded. It could be a trick, she told herself. He could not actually be blind and instead acted to be someone he wasn’t so she let her guard down. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“My name is Kaito Tenjo,” he replied, and with that, all the thoughts that had been circulating in her mind came to a sudden screeching halt.

✥

Kaito started eating again. Yuuri didn’t need telling – the Professor’s mood was telling enough. Yuuri waited two weeks to let Ruri settle in before taking it upon himself to do a proper housewarming visit. He even brought flowers for the occasion. They were partially trampled dandelions that the gardener in charge of Academia’s pristine lawns left in a mound to be thrown out, sure, but as it was said it’s the thought that counted.

Personally, Yuuri thought that they made a lovely edition to the garbage can that Kaito threw them into.

“What are you doing here?” Ruri demanded from where she sat in a chair behind the console, next to where Kaito tapped away at the keyboard, writing up something – Yuuri didn’t know. It wasn’t the office chair that Yuuri liked to frequent; a look around the lab revealed his favoured chair to be shoved in a corner, the wheels broken off and the cushion burst. Yuuri frowned as he picked up the broken base and spun a wheel with one finger.

“My chair is broken,” he said, leaving Ruri’s question dutifully unanswered.

“Get a replacement then,” Kaito said. Yuuri huffed.

“If you must know, I’ve taken it as my personal duty to visit occasionally, as a good neighbor should,” Yuuri stated. “And you’ve broken my favorite chair.”

“Good,” Ruri said. “Then you’ve got no reason to stay, so leave.”

Yuuri let out a considerate hum. “We’ll see about that. Ah, Kaito, by the way, the Professor requires your… assistance.”

Kaito stiffened, eyes finally leaving the screen and whatever he’d been writing to settle on Yuuri.

“With?” Kaito prompted. Yuuri smiled.

“A message. For the survivors of Heartland.”

✥

Propaganda. That’s what it was. Kaito made to protest immediately, but then learned something that changed everything;

Haruto was alive, and Academia suspected he was with none other than Mizael.

So he agreed to record the message; not for Academia, but for the slight chance that he could somehow get in contact with Haruto, or somehow use it as a way to feed information to them. Anything that could give them an advantage – any way he could help keep them alive, he would take. Kaito wasn’t an idiot. He knew Academia was benefiting from his desperation. But he had to take what he could get.

He sat in the silent studio for no more than an hour, reading from a script fed to him on a screen. When he was done, he was escorted back to the lab wing by two of the masked Academia students that served as guards, along with Yuuri himself. As they neared the wing, a young redheaded man passed by them, heading the other direction and wearing a distinctly pissed off expression. Judging by Yuuri’s smirk, he knew something about the man that Kaito didn’t. Kaito didn’t get any more time to think on it, when as they reached the door the timer on his visor reached zero and he was plunged back into the unseeing darkness. The doors to the wing opened, and he stepped into the cool air of the lab to be met with Ruri’s frustrated ranting.

“That pig-headed, selfish, son of a–!” Her sentence broke off into a frustrated scream. The door closed behind him, and he heard Ruri kick something – the replacement office chair that Yuuri had put in a request for, presumably, – sending it clattering across the room. Kaito blindly made his way across the room, walking until he came to a wall dropping to sit on the floor, legs crossed as he listened to Ruri vent her frustration. She settled down, eventually. A long silence stretched between them, filled only with Ruri’s exerted breathing.

“Tall redhead?” He asked. Ruri’s boots scuffed against the floor.

“Yeah,” she said.

“I take it you have history.”

Ruri sighed heavily and plopped down on the floor beside him. He couldn’t see her expression, but he could feel the melancholy in her presence, as dampening as rainfall.

“We… were something. Or so I thought.” Bitter, bitter words, spat as though she were sick of their taste on her tongue. “I met him before Heartland fell. He was a street performer, an entertainer. I was in a crowd of people watching his show when he singled me out to be his assistant. He was charming, and charismatic, and our paths kept crossing and it just… kind of happened.

“After Heartland’s fall, he helped me organize and manage the refugee camps. He’d put on performances for the little ones. It made them so happy. It gave them hope.” She drew her knees up to her chest, crossing her arms over them. “I thought he was a good guy. Turns out I couldn’t have been more wrong.”

Kaito reached over. He’d intended to place a hand on her shoulder, but misjudged the distance and ended up rubbing her back instead. It worked just as well. She sighed, the sound shaken as though she were on the verge of tears.

“What did he say to you just now?” Kaito asked.

“I don’t even know!!” Ruri laughed, the sound high-pitched and hysterical. “I was too angry to listen to a word he said.”

Kaito hummed, his hand stilling on her back. He dropped it into his lap and leaned his head back against the wall, considering.

“You know,” he said eventually, “I was in a similar position a few years back.”

“Really?” Now Ruri seemed intrigued, her tone holding all the conspiracy of a gossip-engaged high schooler. Which Ruri was, he reminded himself. He felt her shift next to him, likely turning to focus on him entirely.

“Like you said, we were something, or so I thought. His name was Chris. He worked at the Lab that my father owned–”

“Chris Arkwright?”

Kaito frowned. “You know of him?”

“My brother is a poorly closeted nerd who collects dueling magazines,” Ruri explained. “I don’t know anything about him other than he invented the Duel Gazer.”

“Yeah, he did do that.” Kaito said, then fell quiet for moment.

“So… why did you two break up?” Ruri prompted, hesitantly.

“He thought my dad killed his dad. Which he did so it was justified but I didn’t have anything to do with it so…” Kaito cut himself short, then sighed. “I’m sorry, this is a terrible example.”

Ruri was quiet for a moment, then let out an abrupt laugh. “Well it certainly has the ‘terrible betrayal’ theme going with it as well.”

“The point is, I’ve found through experience that if someone is trying to tell you something, you should listen and _then_ say ‘fuck you’. Because if they’re being so insistent, maybe there’s something to it. And if there isn’t, then at least you know you’re justified and it doesn’t leave any room for self-doubt in the future.”

Kaito knew he wished he had listened – or rather, that Chris had explained what was wrong in the first place rather than packing his things and leaving on that rainy, cold night. It would have prevented so much. But they were both arrogant and stubborn, too self-assured in their intelligence to ever want to admit fault in their thinking. Kaito knew that now. Age and experience gave him that advantage.

“In the very least,” Kaito continued, “It’ll shut him up.”

Ruri let out another sound of frustration.

“It’d just let him _win_ ,” she said. “He’s stupid and charismatic and knows how to get people on his side. He’s a street performer – oh, _excuse me_ , he’s a goddamn spy. It’s his job.”

“That is a far cry from an introverted scientist.”

“It’s just– he was just so… it’s like he _cared._ It seemed like he really did. And it was great! And then it turns out that he’s utter scum of the earth and he has the _audacity_ to come crawling back to me like he’s sorry. _He’s sorry!?_ Our city is destroyed, my brother might be dead for all I know, and I’m suck here in a whole other dimension and he says he’s _sorry!?_ I’m just sorry I can’t give him the beating he deserves, the two-faced–!!” She cut herself off, and huffed out a heavy sigh. “Sorry I’m just… mad.”

“It’s fine.”

It was silent between them again for a moment before Ruri started laughing. Hard. A genuine laugh. Kaito had no idea what was so funny.

“I just–” she gasped out between laughs, “– I’m a prisoner of war, and here I am swapping stories of boy troubles with Kaito Tenjo. It’s _absurd._ ”

When she put it that way, Kaito couldn’t help but let out a laugh himself.

 


End file.
